Flying Blind
by Kathy Rose
Summary: Malcolm is blinded in an accident. Can he adjust to the challenge of living in darkness, and what it will mean for his career?
1. Chapter 1

Beta: PJ in NH

Spoilers: Various throughout the series

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to someone else, etc., etc., etc. I'm not making any money, I'm just having fun with the characters.

Author's Notes: I have wanted to do this story for several years, but every time I'd start thinking about it, someone else would post a story about Malcolm losing his sight, or Trip being blind, or Malcolm losing his hearing, and so on. I didn't want anyone to think I was ripping off a story they'd done. But, dang it! I've waited three years! I've decided to heck with it. I'm doing it now!

Another Author's Note: Some of you were probably expecting another humorous story from me. I do write a lot of humor, but sometimes I have to take a break and get the angst out of my system and stretch my creative wings before any new humorous storyline ideas crop up. There is humor in this story, but it's not the main theme.

* * *

CHAPTER 1

Malcolm tapped his foot impatiently. The long day was becoming even longer, and his frustration was growing with each delay, most of which had been caused by Trip.

The test had been called off yet again, this time because of a variance of less than two one-hundredths on one of the readings. Malcolm knew the modifications to the phase cannons would work, and although he could understand Trip's desire for caution, he thought the man was carrying it a bit far. Two one-hundredths was well within acceptable parameters.

Malcolm had been developing these upgrades for the past year. Once implemented, they would increase the output of the phase cannons by more than twelve percent. One thing Malcolm had learned being out in space for five years: The bigger and stronger your weapons, the better the chance of coming out the winner in a hostile encounter. So many times they'd been involved in battles where Enterprise's weapons had had little or no effect. Improving the cannons might prevent more of that in the future.

But the delays, as Trip found one reason after another to stop the test, were irksome. Malcolm knew most of the crew thought he was overly cautious, but that was nothing compared to what Trip could be like when his precious engine was involved. Extra power was needed for the cannon upgrade, which meant Trip was overseeing that end of the operation from Engineering. Meanwhile, here he was, waiting in the compartment which housed the port phase cannon. It was hot and cramped, and his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat.

He opened his communicator to find out what the hold-up was this time. "Reed to Engineering."

There were a few moments of silence, then Trip's voice came back to him. _"Keep your shirt on, Malcolm. I'm almost done. I want to make sure the override will work if we need to shut this down."_

"It's not going to need to be shut down," Malcolm said testily.

_"That's your opinion," _Trip responded calmly. _"Better to be safe than sorry. And don't forget to use the goggles."_

Malcolm snapped the communicator shut. He grabbed the goggles from where he'd hung them on a convenient conduit. Not that he expected there would be any back flare from routing so much power to the cannons, but he had no grounds to complain about Trip's overcautiousness if he himself ignored basic safety precautions. He slipped on the goggles and resumed waiting.

His communicator beeped. Flipping it open, he said, "Go ahead."

_"We're ready. Let's try it again."_

Malcolm set the open communicator on a nearby flat surface and began entering commands for the test on the panel in front of him. If the third time was supposedly the charm, he wondered what was the seventeenth time called.

A flashing light on the panel made him curse under his breath.

"Abort," he said loudly enough to be picked up by the open communicator. He quickly input the commands to halt the test on his end.

_"What is it this time?" _Trip asked.

"I'm getting a warning indicator. I need to reset the sequence. Should only take a moment."

His vision restricted by the goggles, Malcolm took them off to better see what he was doing at the panel. It irritated him that this time he was the one stopping the test, but it was probably because some change Trip had made down in Engineering had thrown the system out of balance. He entered the commands to reset the upgrade, and the indicator stopped flashing.

"Ready," he said.

_"Here we go," _said Trip over the open communicator link. _"Commencing power feed now."_

Malcolm, holding his breath, watched the panel displays. The troublesome indicator light remained dark. He was slowly letting out his breath when another readout showed a sudden power spike. The build-up of energy was much too fast. If it continued, it would soon be beyond the capability of the system to handle.

"Shut it down!" he yelled, frantically entering commands on his end.

Trip's reply was drowned out by the staticky hiss of energy as it was routed into the cannon. Malcolm's fingers flew over the control panel, trying to halt the flow of energy, but the surge continued to grow.

* * *

The first sense to alert Malcolm to his return to consciousness was hearing. Sickbay again, he deduced. The chirping and rustling noises were unmistakably those of Phlox's many creatures.

As he groggily clawed his way toward full awareness, other sensations made themselves known, and he was afraid to open his eyes for fear the sickbay lighting would only intensify his headache.

He ached all over. He hadn't felt this pulverized since he and Major Hayes had beat each other up. He hadn't been in another fight, had he? Or -- his breathing hitched and his heartbeat sped up -- had he been on a planetary mission that had gone awry?

His disjointed thoughts finally coalesced. He'd been in one of the phase cannon compartments working on testing the upgrades. He didn't remember much except that it had been taking much longer than he'd anticipated. One problem after another had kept cropping up.

Keeping his eyes closed, he turned his face to the side, but the movement was impeded by something on his head. That explained his headache. He must have hit his head. The bleeding must have been fierce if Phlox had needed to use so much bandaging.

Lifting a hand, he touched the wrappings. His fingers followed them around from above one ear, over his eyes, to the other ear. Had his eyes been damaged as well? He tried to open them, but the bandage was sufficiently tight to keep them closed.

A wave of panic flooded through him. He thrashed about, spurred by a vague notion of sitting up, taking off the bandages, and finding a mirror to see what had happened to him. He'd just gotten the blanket off and had slid his feet over the edge of the bed when a voice stopped him.

"I'd advise against that, Lieutenant."

Turning his head in the direction of Doctor Phlox's voice, Malcolm asked, "What's wrong with my eyes?"

"I'll tell you once you calm down and lie back."

Malcolm felt a hand on his arm, guiding him back down on the biobed. "What's wrong with my eyes?" he asked again.

"Let me ask you a few questions first," Phlox countered. "What is the last thing you remember?"

Malcolm took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "I was in the port phase cannon compartment. We were getting ready to try the test on the upgrade again."

"And...?"

Malcolm started to shake his head, then stopped as the movement reminded him he was wearing a bandage around the top half of his head. "I'm not sure," he said. "We'd started the test, but had to stop so I could reset the upgrade. I did that, and then I remember telling Trip I was ready to start the test again."

"Anything else?"

Now Malcolm did shake his head, wincing at the pain the movement produced. He heard Phlox move away a step, then step back, and felt the tip of a hypospray touch his neck. As the injection hissed, his body began to relax and his headache lessened in intensity.

"That feels better," Malcolm said gratefully, raising a hand to touch the bandaging. "Now please, Doctor. Tell me what happened."

"According to Commander Tucker," Phlox said, "there was a power surge feeding into the system where you were. The surge resulted in an explosion--" Phlox's restraining hand kept Malcolm from bolting upright. "I'm sure Mr. Tucker will be able to tell you about it in more detail. But you were severely injured. You've suffered a concussion, which probably explains your difficulty recalling the events immediately prior to the explosion. You apparently were blown across the compartment, only to be stopped by a very hard bulkhead."

Phlox paused, and Malcolm braced himself, sensing there was worse to come.

"In addition," Phlox continued solemnly, "your eyes were burned. Please do not attempt to remove the bandaging. You could cause even more damage if you do."

"Am I...?" Malcolm stopped and swallowed. He couldn't bring himself to ask.

"Blind? I don't know," Phlox admitted honestly, but not unkindly. "Given time, your eyes no doubt will be as good as new, but there is always a chance that may not be the case."

"When will you know for certain?" Malcolm asked.

"According to the scans, your eyes are already healing," Phlox said. Malcolm could tell by the change in his voice that the doctor had lifted his head, no doubt to look at the med scanner readings on the panel behind him. "However, we won't know for certain until the bandages come off and you open your eyes. The bandages have to remain in place for at least a week."

Malcolm digested this information, unaware of Phlox watching him intently.

"If you don't mind me asking," Phlox asked softly, "was there a reason you weren't wearing safety goggles? They were found on the other side of the compartment from you after the explosion."

"I had them on," Malcolm said testily, then went still as a fragment of memory surfaced. "No, I didn't. I took them off to reset the upgrade sequence." His voice thickened with self-remorse as he continued. "I was so anxious to get on with the test. I must have forgotten to put them back on."

He turned his head in what he thought was the direction where Phlox was standing, and the doctor smiled sadly. Malcolm didn't know he was off by a good thirty degrees.

"Would it have made a difference if I had been wearing them?" Malcolm asked.

"Perhaps," Phlox said. "The force and brilliance of the explosion were enough that your eyes would have been damaged even if you had been wearing them, but not as severely. You also apparently had your eyes open at the exact moment the explosion was ignited. Eyelids are not very thick, but they do provide minimal protection in such situations. In any case, you shouldn't dwell on what happened. You should concentrate on getting better, hmmm?"

Malcolm didn't answer. He was too busy berating himself. He hadn't put the goggles on. How could he have been so stupid? If he wound up permanently blind, it would be his own bloody fault.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. I've got you hooked -- now to pull you in.

CHAPTER 2

The doors to sickbay swooshed open, and the sound of footsteps came to Malcolm where he was propped up in a sitting position on the biobed. The footsteps stopped a short distance away, and an accented voice asked, "Malcolm? You awake?"

He might have known Trip would be the first to visit him. Malcolm realized that, with the bandage over his eyes, it would be very easy to lie. The eyes could give so much away about what a person was feeling or thinking. He could remain quiet, feigning sleep, and Trip would leave.

But he replied, "Yes, I'm awake."

A raspy exhalation came from the other man, and Malcolm heard him take a step closer. "Ya gave us a terrible scare, Malcolm," Trip said, but Malcolm could detect the relief under the mock rebuke.

"Believe me," Malcolm said, "that wasn't my intention."

"I know, Malcolm. I'm just glad you weren't hurt any worse than you were."

Metal scraped abrasively on the deck plating as Trip pulled a chair over. The chair creaked in protest as Trip sat down.

"Doc says you don't remember everything that happened," Trip said.

"I remember enough," Malcolm said sourly. His unwitting contribution to his injuries rankled. He still couldn't believe he'd forgotten to put the goggles back on. "There was a power surge, and then everything blew up in my face."

Trip didn't say anything. Malcolm could hear him shifting in the chair. The normally talkative engineer was silent, an unusual enough occurrence that Malcolm wondered what was wrong. Then he realized Trip could have taken his last statement as an accusation -- perhaps a well-founded accusation -- since the override Trip had installed to shut down the power to the cannon apparently hadn't worked.

Malcolm hadn't meant the words to come out that way, but it was too late to take them back. Trying to move past the awkward moment, he asked, "Have you found out what caused the power surge?"

"Yeah," Trip replied. "It wasn't any one thing. Three different subroutines failed. If it had been only one, or maybe two, nothin' woulda happened. But three? It started a cascade effect, with nothing holding back the power. I'm sorry, Malcolm. I really thought my override would prevent something like that from happening."

"It's not your fault. It's mine." Malcolm snorted in self-derision. "I didn't take into account a contingency like that when I was designing the upgrade or running the simulations."

"Well, that's the whole idea of havin' these tests -- to work the bugs out."

Malcolm cleared his throat. "Why didn't the override work?"

It was Trip's turn to snort derisively. "It worked fine. Just not fast enough. The surge built up so quickly, jumping from subroutine to subroutine, the override couldn't catch up to it."

Malcolm shook his head, a motion that didn't provoke nearly as much as pain as it had earlier. Phlox had loaded him up on painkillers. "I know the phase cannons can handle the extra power."

"Yeah, but the systems carrying the power to the cannons can't."

Lost in contemplation of the problem, Malcolm absently raised a hand to scratch his forehead, only to encounter the bandages. Scowling, he dropped his hand onto his lap.

"What'd Phlox say about your eyes?" Trip asked softly. "They gonna be okay?"

"He thinks so," Malcolm replied. "He said there's a chance they won't be, but it's small. We won't know until the bandages come off."

Trip grunted in acknowledgement. Malcolm heard another loud creak from the chair as the engineer stood.

"I've got to get back to the repair work," Trip said. "I just wanted to check on ya in person."

"Repair work!" Malcolm said, aghast. He'd been so wrapped up in the mistakes he'd made that he hadn't thought about damage to the ship. "How bad is it?"

When Trip didn't answer right away, Malcolm strained to listen. He got the impression -- he didn't know how since he couldn't see the engineer's expression -- that Trip was reluctant to tell him.

"Come on, Trip," he said. "I'm in the dark here."

He heard Trip groan at the bad, perhaps tactless, pun. But he didn't care. He needed to know to what extent his poor judgment and carelessness had damaged Enterprise.

"It's bad, Malcolm," Trip said at last. "The portside cannon was destroyed. The hull in that area was almost breached. The repair work is mainly to patch up weakened spots in the hull, as well as clear out the debris in the compartment. Well, what's left of the compartment, that is."

Malcolm's hands clenched on the sheet covering the lower half of his body. "Bloody hell! What a mess I've made of this!"

"It coulda been worse, Malcolm. You coulda been killed."

Malcolm couldn't argue with that statement. After Trip left, sickbay was quiet. Even Phlox's animals were subdued, as if they were aware of Malcolm's tumultuous feelings. The doctor had gone off on an errand, but Malcolm was glad for his absence. He needed time for introspection. That meant he did what he always did in such a situation. He beat himself up with self-recriminations and what if's.

It was bad enough that he'd been hurt -- again -- but to have inflicted such damage on Enterprise! Now the ship was down a phase cannon. If the damage really was as extensive as Trip had told him, nothing short of a stay in a spacedock would fix it. Portions of the hull in that area might have to be replaced, not to mention the cannon which had blown itself up. He wouldn't know for certain until he could inspect it himself.

That would have to wait, he told himself sarcastically. He'd wouldn't be able to inspect anything until the bandages were removed, and even then, there was a chance he might not be able to see.

He supposed he could have bulloxed up things even worse, but he didn't know how.

Some security officer he was. He'd seriously harmed the ship he was supposed to protect, and had gotten himself injured in the bargain. It would serve him right if he was blind. He would only be getting what he deserved.

About an hour later, another visitor arrived in sickbay. Malcolm had been expecting him ever since he'd regained consciousness.

"Malcolm!" the captain said heartily, but to Malcolm, the good cheer sounded forced.

"Sir," he replied.

"I'm glad to see you're still among the living. You gave us quite a scare."

Malcolm grimaced. "Trip said pretty much the same thing, sir."

He heard a chuckle from Jon. "You have to admit, you're very good at spectacular explosions."

Malcolm let his head fall back on the pillow. What a wonderful way to be remembered -- for his spectacular explosions, and his even more spectacular screw-ups.

"Sir," he said. "I will have a full report ready for you as soon as I can."

"There's no rush, Malcolm," Jon said. "Trip can cover that for you."

"But it was my fault that--"

"It was no one's fault, Malcolm. It was an accident. You believed the upgrade would work, and there was an accident while you were testing it."

Malcolm thought the captain was sincere, but without being able to see his face, he couldn't tell for sure.

"Don't worry about the report, Malcolm," the captain continued. "You just get better. You're the best tactical officer in Starfleet. Enterprise needs you back at one hundred percent as soon as possible."

Despite his gloomy mood, Malcolm smiled.

"That's better," Jon said, his voice moving away. "I've got to get going. I'll check in on you later."

Malcolm nodded as he heard the sickbay doors open and close. That had been very generous of the captain to absolve him of blame. But he was sure the captain realized that, if he hadn't insisted on performing the tests, if he'd waited and done some more research and tinkering with the specs, the explosion might not have happened. The surge of pride he'd felt when the captain had called him the best tactical officer in the fleet quickly eroded under a new onslaught of self-doubt and guilt.

He was left alone with his pessimistic thoughts. There wasn't anything else to occupy him.

He'd never realized how limited a person's capabilities became when he was without sight. He couldn't read, he couldn't watch a vid, he couldn't even look at Phlox's animals. He supposed he should have been bored, but he was too busy chastising himself. When he heard the sickbay doors open again a short time later, he was almost grateful for the distraction.

The footsteps this time were lighter and quicker than either Trip's or the captain's. He thought he knew who it was. "Hoshi?" he guessed out loud.

"Very good!" came the familiar soft voice. "How did you know it was me?"

He smiled. "You don't stomp the deck plating when you walk, and you walk faster than most people on board."

He heard her laugh delightedly. "That's because my legs are shorter than those of most people on board," she said. "I have to walk faster to keep up with everyone."

"What brings you here?" he asked.

There was a pause, and he just knew she was giving him that look that said he was an idiot. She was very good at that expression. He wished he could see it now.

"Silly!" she said. "I came to find out how you are doing."

Try as he might, he couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. "As you can see," he said with a wave of one hand toward his bandaged head, "I'm not seeing much of anything right now."

"That's another reason I'm here," Hoshi said.

He caught a whiff of jasmine as she took a step over to the biobed. He almost jumped when her hand took one of his and placed an object in it. His hands traced the item, and he realized it was a data padd. But there was a cord dangling from it.

"I thought you might be getting bored," she said, "so I brought you a data padd with earphones."

Tracing the edge of the padd's casing with his fingers, Malcolm said, "That's very thoughtful." His voice cracked on the last word, so he loudly cleared his throat. Here he had been wallowing in self-pity, thinking about what he couldn't do, and Hoshi had come up with a solution he should have thought of.

"So, what's on the padd?" he asked. "Not language lessons, I hope."

She laughed again. "I thought about that. In fact, there is some Klingon grammar downloaded on it, in case you get really, really bored. I've included all the Klingon insults and curse words I know." He could hear the smile in her voice. "But mostly it's just audio selections of popular literature..."

Malcolm mentally translated that as trashy novels. Everyone on board knew she had a fondness for them.

"...including a novelization of the latest James Bond movie..."

That sounded interesting, but there were sure to be explosions involved, and he didn't want to hear a story about that right now.

"...and some music that Travis picked out."

Ouch! Travis had atrocious taste in music.

"How do I access this treasure trove since I can't see?" he asked.

"I thought I'd leave that up to you," she said, and he heard her move away toward the door. "It's just an ordinary padd, except you can't see the buttons."

He could not believe she was going to leave without guiding him through the procedure. Leaning forward, he called out, "Hoshi! Come back here!"

"You can figure it out," she said. "It will give you something to do."

"Hoshi!" he growled.

She wasn't intimidated. "And if I hear you had anyone help you with that, I'm going to confiscate it," she called back to him.

He was tempted to throw the padd after her as the sickbay doors swooshed open to let her out, but he thought better of it. The way his luck was going, he might actually hit her.

He ran his fingers lightly over the padd's buttons. He'd show her. He could figure this out.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for all the lovely comments! Forgive me if I don't address some of your questions, but I don't want to give anything away. (Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha.) Everything will become clear (pardon the pun) in the next couple of chapters.

CHAPTER 3

Malcolm could deal with the pain of his physical injuries. He was also accustomed to working through his bouts of guilt and depression after things went wrong. But all that paled in comparison to the difficulty of coping with not being able to see.

Some of the simplest things were now beyond his ability. He'd never realized how much he'd taken his sight for granted. As the week in sickbay dragged on, he begrudged the time it took for his eyes to heal, and he kept telling himself it was only a temporary condition.

Each morning he experienced a panicky confusion when he woke to find himself in darkness. It would take a moment or two for him to remember where he was, although he thought part of that was the result of the painkillers clouding his thinking. Then he had to make a conscious effort to be aware of which direction he was facing -- was he lying on his left side on the biobed, or on his right? -- because only then could he be reasonably certain of where things were around him.

Eating was especially frustrating. As a matter of pride, he had refused being fed by anyone else. He could eat a sandwich or pick up a mug of soup to drink its contents without too much fuss. But anything that required utensils, such as using a knife to cut a piece of meat, was an exercise in precision as well as a test of his patience. He'd lost count of how many times he'd raised a fork to his mouth only to find there was nothing on it. And more than once he'd accidentally tipped over his drinking glass.

That wasn't half as embarrassing, however, as the first time Phlox had helped him to the bathroom. Needing someone to assist him with basic bodily functions made him realize how helpless he was without sight.

The second time he needed to use the bathroom, he counted the number of steps from the biobed to the door as Phlox guided him. After persuading the doctor to wait outside, Malcolm familiarized himself with the location of the sink, stool, and shower. Later the same day, after some practice walking back and forth, he found that if he wasn't distracted en route, he could make it to the bathroom and back by himself.

Dressing was no easy task, either. Malcolm was wearing sickbay pajamas, but Phlox insisted he change to a fresh pair every day. The pants weren't difficult to put on, as they were of the simple drawstring variety, but the shirt was another matter. It had five buttons down the front. If he didn't get the sides lined up properly, the shirt wound up with either an unused button or buttonhole at the bottom. After some experimentation, he learned that it was more efficient to start at the bottom, lining up the two sides and buttoning his way up, instead of the other way around.

But the data padd presented the greatest challenge. He would, depending on his mood, bless Hoshi or curse her as he worked at accessing the information. When he finally managed to open some of the novels she'd downloaded onto it, his sense of accomplishment was as great as if he'd scaled a difficult mountain.

At the back of his mind, however, he knew that if he didn't have the padd to keep him occupied, he'd be brooding. Despite Phlox's assurances that his vision would be restored, there was a niggling worry that wouldn't go away. There was a chance he would be blind for the rest of his life.

Visitors were a welcome distraction from his gloomy brooding. There was Trip, of course, who came to see him every day. Hoshi and Travis were frequent visitors as well. The captain even stopped by a time or two. Malcolm wouldn't have put it past Phlox to have set up a rotating schedule, because his visitors always seemed to arrive with one of his meals.

"...and then T'Pol gave Trip one of those looks. ... Malcolm? Did you hear what I said?"

Malcolm turned his head toward where Travis was seated in a chair next to the bed. "Sorry. I was thinking about something. You were saying?"

"I was talking about T'Pol's reaction to Trip wearing one of his Hawaiian shirts when he was off duty and he came to the bridge to check on something."

Malcolm remained mute, his thoughts drifting again. The last time Trip had been to sickbay, the engineer had told him the repair work to the port phase cannon compartment had been completed. Unfortunately, they didn't have the components to construct another cannon. That would have to wait until they returned to Jupiter Station, but he didn't know when that would be. He should have asked the captain when he was here earlier. In the meantime, they'd have to get by with the torpedoes and the starboard and aft cannons--

He jumped when something touched his arm.

"You okay, Malcolm?"

Malcolm nodded. "I'm sorry, Travis. I did it again. I guess I'm not very good company tonight."

"I didn't mean to scare you," Travis said. "But I said your name several times and you didn't respond. It's kinda hard to tell if you heard me with the..."

When Travis didn't continue, Malcolm asked, "With the what?"

"Oh!" Travis said. He added awkwardly, "Sorry. I pointed toward your bandages. I forgot you couldn't see me do that."

"Don't worry about it," Malcolm said. "Besides, you didn't scare me. You merely startled me."

A low chuckle came from Travis. "If you say so."

"I do."

"Are you two practicing marriage vows?" came Hoshi's voice from the other side of his bed.

Malcolm jumped again. When had Hoshi come in? He felt his face begin to flush, not so much from her teasing, but that she'd entered sickbay without him being aware of it. Then again, he had been so lost in his thoughts that he'd blocked out Travis talking, and the helmsman was sitting right next to his biobed. The thought crossed his mind that he ought to be careful what he said about people -- he might not know who had skulked in and was listening.

Trying to cover his chagrin, Malcolm said in mock horror, "Travis and I exchange wedding vows? Heaven forbid! I think I can do better than him."

A snort came from Travis' direction.

"How are you doing on accessing the data padd?" Hoshi asked.

"Rather well, actually," Malcolm replied smugly. "I've gotten into almost everything except the James Bond novelization."

"Really?" Her one-word reply spoke volumes.

"Give me that thing," he said, gesturing in the direction of the bedside table where he'd put the padd when Travis had come in.

A moment later, the data padd was placed in his outstretched left hand. With the fingers of his right hand, he traced the edge of the padd. She'd handed it to him upside down, he realized. Turning it around, he found the power switch and turned it on. Then with uncanny accuracy, his fingers found the proper keys to activate the selection playback. He pressed the keys and pulled out the earphone plug, allowing the padd's external speaker to work.

_"... Rupert had just left when the telephone rang. The shrill jingle grated on his already raw nerves, almost causing him to drop his whiskey..."_

Malcolm turned off the device, and Hoshi said, "Very good."

"I'm impressed," said Travis. "I don't think I could have figured out how to work that in just a few days like you did."

"It's just a matter of remembering where the keys are, instead of looking to see where they are," Malcolm explained. "And it helped that I've used padds before. It wasn't like I was starting from scratch."

"In any case, you did very well," Hoshi said. "I bet you're looking forward to getting the bandages off tomorrow."

"You have no idea," Malcolm muttered. "Phlox has been very restrictive about what he will allow me to do."

"He probably just doesn't want you running into anything again," said Travis.

Malcolm was beginning to feel like he was a spectator at a tennis match, swinging his head back and forth from Hoshi on one side of his biobed to Travis on the other. But instead of watching, he was listening.

"Heard about that, did you?" Malcolm asked, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks again.

His run-in with the Pyrithian bat hadn't been his fault. If Phlox hadn't moved the bat's cage from its usual location to the countertop along which he trailed his fingers to help lead him toward the bathroom, he wouldn't have knocked into it. The ear-splitting shriek the bat had made when its cage had hit the deck had made him wonder if his hearing was going to be permanently impaired.

"It was an accident," Hoshi said soothingly.

"Yeah," Travis put in. "Phlox of all people should know better than to rearrange things around a blind person."

There was an awkward silence. Malcolm could imagine Hoshi giving Travis a reproving look for his choice of words. And truthfully, Malcolm couldn't be upset with Travis. For all intents and purposes, right now he was blind.

"We'll know tomorrow whether I'll be able to see," Malcolm said quietly. "Hopefully, I will be back among the sighted. Then I won't have to worry about where Phlox puts anything."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for the lovely comments. It makes me glad I did go ahead and write this story!

CHAPTER 4

Malcom, sitting on the edge of the biobed, held as still as humanly possible as Phlox worked on removing the bandages. He was very aware of the scissors snipping away, the raspy "snick, snick" of the blades uncomfortably close to his ear. There was a slight tug on his head after each cut as Phlox repositioned the scissors. His heart was pounding so loudly he was surprised the doctor couldn't hear it.

"I'm going to peel away the outer bandaging," Phlox said. "There are pads on your eyes. Please do not make any sudden movements or try to dislodge the pads."

Malcolm almost nodded but caught himself. He swallowed nervously. "Of course, Doctor."

He hadn't been able to eat this morning, telling himself that later he would enjoy being able to see what he was eating. But he knew he was fooling himself as to the reason he had no appetite. In reality, he was so anxious about the outcome of this moment that he wouldn't have been able to eat even if he'd wanted to.

He wished Phlox would hurry up. A week in darkness had been a terribly isolating experience. He needed to know whether he could see. Granted, if he could return to his duties, it would be with a sense of needing to redeem himself after that terrible fiasco of an upgrade test. But, if he couldn't see, he'd have to return to Earth, no doubt with his career in Starfleet over. As far as he knew, there were no blind personnel in Starfleet security. You had to be able to see to hit a target.

He couldn't imagine what he would do if he wasn't in Starfleet. All week he had been trying to avoid thinking about that possibility. Now that it was time to find out his fate, it was all he could do not to reach up and rip off the bandaging.

"I'm removing the outer layers," Phlox said. "Please tilt your head back slightly."

Malcolm complied, puzzling over this last instruction. But after Phlox had taken off the wrapping, he realized the pads might have fallen off if he hadn't tipped his head back. He was glad there was no one else in sickbay. He must look like he was undergoing some bizarre treatment at a spa with medical pads instead of cucumber slices over his eyes.

He heard the whirr of a hand-held medical scanner. No doubt the doctor was running a more detailed examination of his eyes, but it seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time.

"Doctor?" he asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice.

"Just checking something, Lieutenant. I'm going to remove the pads. Please keep your eyes closed after I remove them."

The light weight of the pad on his left eye was removed, followed a moment later by the one on his right eye. Phlox's breath brushed across his face. The doctor was probably looking at his eyelids and the area around them. He'd been told he'd been burned there, but he'd been so doped on painkillers that he hadn't felt any discomfort from it.

"The skin has healed nicely," Phlox said. "There's no scarring. Now, lower your head to a normal position and open your eyes."

Those last three words were what Malcolm had waited all week to hear. He tried to open his eyes, but the lids felt like they were gummed together. He wound up opening his eyes very quickly, only to blink repeatedly as the gummy sensation persisted.

"I'm assuming you have the lights dimmed," Malcolm said, still blinking, trying to clean the gunk out of his eyes. "It's very dark in here."

Phlox didn't answer. There was a click, then Malcolm felt something on the skin of his face that he could only describe as warmth. Knowing that Phlox was standing close to him, he wondered if it was the Denobulan's body heat he was noticing.

"Doctor?" he asked anxiously. "What's going on?"

"I'm looking into your eyes with an optical light," Phlox said in his most professional tone. "Please, Lieutenant. Keep your head still. Tell me what you see."

"Nothing. Everything's black."

"No variations in the degree of blackness? No light spots or gray areas?"

"There's nothing!" Malcolm could hear the rising hysteria in his own voice but was powerless to stop it. "No light spots, no variations -- nothing! What's wrong with my eyes?"

Malcolm reached out, flailing wildly to grab Phlox's arm, needing to find some sort of anchor to keep him from falling into what felt like a yawning abyss. His fingertips brushed fabric, and he grabbed hold.

"Lieuentant, calm down," Phlox said, and a hand covered Malcolm's where he was grasping the doctor's sleeve. "It may be that there is some residue built up on the surface of your eyes. Let me get the eye wash."

Malcolm tried to clamp down on his foreboding, and reluctantly released his grip. He heard Phlox move off a few paces, followed by some rattling noises. The doctor must be retrieving the eye wash from a tray nearby.

The doctor returned and said, "Tilt your head back again, please. ... Open your eyes as wide as you can."

Malcolm flinched as cold liquid splashed into his left eye. He involuntary blinked several times and felt some of the liquid spill out the corner of his eye. He couldn't see any improvement, but maybe the wash took a few moments to work. A soft cloth was pressed into his hand and he automatically used it to wipe the overflow.

"Now the other eye," Phlox said.

The procedure was repeated with the same result.

"Doctor?" Malcolm asked as fear tied itself into a knot in the pit of his stomach. He was still in total darkness. He heard Phlox inhale deeply, and Malcolm's gut tightened even more.

"To answer your earlier question," Phlox said gravely, "the lights are not dimmed. They are at their full brightness. To answer your other question...I don't know what is wrong with your eyes. The scans indicate they have healed properly. You should be able to see."

"You mean I'm blind?" Malcolm demanded, becoming more agitated. "I thought you said there was only a small chance I wouldn't be able to see?"

"Yes, I did say that, but in regard to the physical damage sustained by your eyes. They have healed properly," Phlox said, the first crack in his professionalism revealed as voice became louder. "I'll need to run some more tests."

"I don't want tests!" Malcolm yelled, trying to throw off Phlox's hand which had come to rest on his shoulder in what he supposed was meant as a calming gesture. He didn't want to calm down. He wanted answers. "My eyes are healed, you said. I want to know why I can't see!"

A cold, metallic point touched his neck and he heard the distinctive hiss of a hypospray. He belatedly realized that Phlox must have picked up a sedative at the same time as he'd gotten the eye wash from the tray. The doctor must have known then that something was wrong.

He was dimly aware of Phlox helping him lie down on the biobed before his mind joined his eyes in the darkness.

* * *

Malcolm woke with much the same disorientation as when he had regained consciousness after the explosion, but whatever Phlox had given him apparently was working. He felt calm -- almost unnaturally so. As was typical these past few days, his hearing alerted him that he was awake. He lay unmoving on the biobed, unwilling to open his eyes and face the reality of his sightlessness, as he listened to a hushed conversation taking place a short distance away.

"I do not believe there is a physical reason for Lieutenant's Reed's condition," he heard Phlox say.

"You're sure?" came another voice that Malcolm identified as the captain's. "Couldn't it have something to do with his concussion?"

"Blindness from a blow to the head usually is limited to the realms of fiction as a convenient plot device," Phlox replied dryly. "I did run scans to check the neurological connections from his eyes to his brain, and nothing appears amiss. In addition, the portion of the brain that receives and interprets the messages from the eyes also is undamaged."

Heavy footsteps sounded on the floor in a rhythmic pattern, moving away, returning, then moving away again. Malcolm visualized the captain pacing.

After a few moments, the captain spoke. "Then what else could it possibly be?"

"I believe it may be a case of functional blindness," Phlox said.

"Functional blindness? What's that?"

"It is a condition medically referred to as a conversion reaction to unpleasant circumstances which stimulate inner conflict. As is typical with functional blindness, Lieutenant Reed is exhibiting a complete lack of physical symptoms associated with blindness. He still has the blink reflex, his pupils dilate and contract depending on the level of light, and so on." Phlox paused. "In the past, this condition was referred to as hysterical blindness."

"So what are you saying, Doctor? Since there's no physical impairment to his vision, it's a mental condition?"

"Lieutenant Reed should be able to see, but there is a psychological factor or factors preventing him from doing so. It will have to be treated as such."

There was a noisy exhalation that could only have come from the captain. Malcolm had heard it often enough on the bridge when the captain's patience was being strained.

"Why would this happen?" the captain asked.

"The lieutenant is not doing it on purpose," Phlox said. "Apparently, he has some unresolved issues, most likely concerning the accident that injured him."

Unresolved issues! There was an understatement if Malcolm had ever heard one. The whole bloody accident had been his fault.

He stopped listening to the conversation as he mentally ticked off his transgressions. If he'd done his job properly, the ship's cannons would have been better than before. But instead, because of his carelessness, Enterprise was now handicapped in the fire-power department. The fact that the integrity of the hull in that area of the ship was now severely compromised was his fault, too.

But the bottom line was that the bandages had come off and, no matter what the reason, he was blind. There was no way he could resume his duties. Captain Archer would need to start looking for his replacement.

It was for the best, Malcolm told himself. The last thing Enterprise needed was an officer whose overwhelming arrogance in his abilities could damage the ship even further. Being unable to see was a small price to pay to keep that from happening.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: As you've probably figured out by now, I'm trying to post one chapter a day until this is finished. And again, thank you for all the lovely reviews!

CHAPTER 5

"I don't want to do this," Malcolm protested.

Neither Hoshi nor Trip said anything. Hoshi was beside him, keeping a light grip on his elbow, and Trip was walking behind them. His companions may have reached the limit of their patience with his protests, but they weren't giving in. In fact, whenever he slowed his pace, he'd feel a hand on his back, encouraging him to keep going. He knew Trip, at least, was annoyed with him because the last push had been more of a shove.

They were walking down the corridor outside sickbay on their way to the mess hall. Phlox had told him that his stay in sickbay was coming to an end. As much as Malcolm would have liked to remain in a place where he felt reasonably secure, at least until he was returned to Earth, the doctor had insisted he begin "getting out and about."

The captain had been more blunt. They weren't returning to Earth right away. A single crewman with a non-life-threatening condition was no reason to divert a starship that had more important things to do. Malcolm would be on board until Enterprise was called back to Earth, or until they met up with a ship bound for there. The captain had been unable to tell him when that would be. In the meantime, the captain had said, he was to cope as best he could with his circumstances.

He'd been in sickbay several weeks. His physical injuries had healed. Blindness wasn't a good enough excuse to remain as a patient in sickbay when there was nothing else wrong with him. Tomorrow he was to return to his own quarters.

So it was that Malcolm was in an irritable mood when he'd changed from sickbay pajamas into civilian clothing for this sojourn to the mess hall. At least the clothing that Trip had stopped by his cabin to get was fairly easy for him to put on. He was able to don the T-shirt after Trip put it in his hands. The trousers didn't prove difficult, either, although he had to sit to get them on his legs before he could stand to pull them up to his waist. Completing the outfit were socks, which he was able to adjust on his feet by lining up by the seams at the toes, and a pair of slip-on loafers.

The only qualm he had was that Trip had selected his clothing. He was almost glad he couldn't see what glaring colors Trip might have combined. A quick question to Hoshi before they left sickbay got him an answer -- dark brown pants, olive green shirt -- and Malcolm realized his clothing wouldn't be a spectacle that would attract the attention of everyone in the mess hall.

No, it would be himself struggling to act normally that would be the focus of the pitying looks that he couldn't see.

Once again his steps slowed, and once again he was given a firm reminder in the middle of his back to keep going.

A few steps more and Hoshi, in a cheerful tone, said, "Here we are. We're right outside the mess hall. Trip, can you get the door?"

"Sure," came the engineer's voice, and Malcolm felt Trip's hand on his upper arm, moving him to the side.

Given the volume of the conversations drifting out when the door opened, the mess hall must be at least half full, Malcolm estimated. Hoshi, keeping her hand on his elbow, moved him back over to the doorway.

"Lift your foot over the threshold," she told him.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward, but the bottom of his shoe grazed the lip of the threshold. Momentarily thrown off balance, only Hoshi's grip on his elbow kept him from stumbling.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, aware of a drop in the noise level around him. So much for an inconspicuous entrance.

"Come on," Hoshi said quietly. "I'll tell you what's on the menu."

He allowed her to lead him over to the food cabinets where the aroma of various dishes assailed his nostrils. He tried to sort them out, but they were overriden by one particularly nauseating odor.

"Chef made liver and onions tonight, didn't he?" he said, his stomach going slightly queasy.

"Yes, he did," Hoshi said. "Do you want that?"

"No! That's the last thing I want." He paused, careful not to inhale too deeply. "For some reason, it smells stronger than usual."

Sniffing noises came from behind him. "Smells the same as usual to me," Trip said. "I think I'll have that."

"You do and you're not sitting with us," Malcolm said. Turning his head toward Hoshi, he asked, "What else is there?"

"Hmmm." There was a pause during which Malcolm imagined she was surveying the selections. "Chicken and rice. Pork chops. The usual vegetables and salads."

Although he would have preferred the pork chops, Malcolm told Hoshi he'd have the chicken and rice. There would be no cutting involved since Chef's version of the dish had chunks of chicken mixed in with the rice, and it would be easier for him to eat. He didn't want anything that would cause problems on his first outing from sickbay since the accident.

"What do ya want to drink?" asked Trip from behind him. "I'll go get it."

"Just water, thanks."

Hoshi put a plate in his hands as Trip moved off. He could tell by the smell as well as its weight that the plate had food on it. He waited as Hoshi made her selection, snippets of conversation coming to him from the other diners.

"...never know to look at him..."

"...would have been embarrassing if he fell..."

"...can't believe..."

"Malcolm?" Hoshi's voice broke his concentration on the voices around him. "I'm going to guide you over to a table."

"Fine," he said tensely, taking care to keep his plate level as Hoshi took his elbow again and they began walking. It was only a few steps before she halted, took the plate from him, and put his hand on the back of a chair. He eased himself into it.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"You're more than welcome," she replied. "Your plate is in front of you on the table. The cutlery is to the right side of your plate."

"Oh. Thanks again. I forgot about getting that."

Trip's arrival at the table was announced by a scraping noise as he pulled out a seat.

"There ya go, Malcolm," he said, and Malcolm heard a dull thunk on the table. "Your water."

Malcolm nodded, reminding himself how he had learned to eat in sickbay. Starting at the edge of the table, he moved his fingertips carefully along the surface until he encountered his plate. Then he slid his hand to the side and found a fork and knife on top of a napkin, right where Hoshi said they would be. He pulled the napkin out from under the utensils and put it on his lap. Then he found the fork again and moved it toward the plate, letting one finger trail along the tabletop until he encountered the plate again.

The most difficult part was getting something onto the fork. He used the fork tines to probe what was on the plate, able to tell by the slight resistance when he found his food. Then it was simply a matter of sliding the fork under some of it, lifting it with a slight shake to make anything in danger of falling off do so on to the plate instead of his lap while it was on the way to his mouth.

He could hear the clinking sounds of utensils as Trip and Hoshi began eating. At least they weren't watching him eat. At least he didn't think they were. That was one of the most uncomfortable aspects of being blind -- wondering if people were watching you but not being able to see if they actually were.

He chewed and swallowed the first bite of his food, then took a deep breath. "I appreciate you not getting the liver and onions, Trip," he said.

"No problem," replied the engineer. "But how'd you know? I mean, I coulda gotten that and not told you."

"I don't smell it," Malcolm said with a lift of his eyebrows.

Hoshi delicately cleared her throat. "You know, Malcolm, people who lose their sight often find that their other senses become more acute."

"Yeah, I've heard that, too," Trip chimed in. "No wonder you could tell I didn't have the liver."

Malcolm snorted. "I seriously doubt that I've been blind long enough for my other senses to start improving. But liver has such a...unique...odor that it's easily identifiable. Besides, it's always turned my stomach."

Trip and Hoshi laughed. They ate in silence for a minute or so before Hoshi spoke again.

"I was serious about what I said before, Malcolm," she said. "I think you will notice that your hearing in particular is going to become much better than it was."

"There was nothing wrong with my hearing to begin with," he muttered, stabbing at his food with the fork and not caring if he knocked some off the plate.

"I didn't mean to imply that," Hoshi said softly, hurt clearly evident in her tone.

Malcolm sighed. "I know you didn't, Hoshi. I'm still rather new at this 'blind' stuff. It's going to take some getting used to." He let his hand explore the tabletop past his plate until he touched his glass. Unfortunately, when he picked it up, he didn't lift it high enough, and the bottom of the glass slammed against his plate, sloshing water over his hand and onto the table. "A lot of getting used to," he amended.

"Let me wipe that up," Trip said.

"No," Malcolm said, holding up his other hand. "You or Hoshi, or Travis or Phlox, aren't going to be around every time something like this happens. I need to learn to handle it by myself."

"Surely just this once--"

"I mean it, Trip," Malcolm said testily. After carefully putting down his glass, he took the napkin from his lap and swiped the puddle next to his plate. "I appreciate your offer, but I can do this."

He finished wiping up the mess, leaving the napkin on the table instead of putting it back on his lap. The last thing he wanted was to walk out of the mess hall after dinner with a big damp spot on the crotch of his pants from a wet napkin.

Trip's low-pitched comment carried to his ears. "Missed a spot."

Malcolm grabbed the napkin again. He felt around the area he'd wiped but couldn't find anything. "Where?" he asked.

"Your plate," Trip said.

Sure enough, upon cautious investigation with his fingers, he found his dinner was now floating around in its own little plate-bound sea. "Why didn't you say so before?" he demanded, his earlier irritability returning.

"You said you didn't want any help," Trip said calmly. "Thought I'd wait this time until you asked."

"Would you like me to get you another plate?" Hoshi asked in a neutral tone.

Malcolm smiled ruefully, unaware of Hoshi and Trip's relieved expressions when he said, "Only if you can put up with me possibly doing that again."

"I'll get it," Trip said. His chair scraped the floor as he pushed back from the table, and Malcolm could feel a breeze as Trip passed by on his way to the food cabinets.

"You're doing very well, Malcolm," Hoshi told him softly. "I thought...Well, I didn't know what I thought."

"That I'd be a right arse about not being able to see?" Malcolm asked with a vehemence that surprised himself. Moderating his tone, he continued, "That I'd be sunk into a deep, dark depression? That I'd be feeling sorry for myself, and would want to stay hidden away somewhere?"

The silence from Hoshi was answer enough. He apparently was dead on in his assessment of how others expected him to react to his sudden blindness. One thing about being blind -- it gave him more time for introspection than he was comfortable with.

"You're right if you thought any of those things," he said, "as well as some others that probably haven't occurred to you yet. That's exactly how I feel. But the captain practically ordered me to deal with it. So that's what I'm going to do."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Again, very nice comments. Thank you all very much. Also, thanks to Roaring Mice for some input that helped make this chapter more credible.

CHAPTER 6

Malcolm was officially kicked out of sickbay the next morning. As Phlox escorted him to his quarters, the doctor tried to make small talk, but Malcolm wasn't fooled. He knew Phlox was attempting to ascertain his emotional state.

Malcolm refused to be drawn in, and tried to deflect the doctor's gentle probing by asking a question of his own.

"Hoshi mentioned that my other senses might become acute now that I can't see," he said. "Will that really happen?"

"Technically, that's not true," Phlox said. "Your hearing, for example, won't become better per se. It will just seem like it does since you will have to rely more on it. To compensate for your lack of sight, your focus for gathering information will be shifted to your other senses. It just might take a while for you accustom yourself to fully utilizing them."

Before the doctor would leave him alone in his own cabin, Malcolm had to prove that he could find the comm panel on his desk and the one next to the door if he should need any help. Malcolm then took the better part of the day to painstakingly memorize where everything was.

Three steps from his bed to the bathroom. One step from the sink to the shower, where the shelf holding the soap and shampoo was at shoulder level on the left. His closet was one step to the left of the bathroom door, his dresser another step past that. Four steps from the main door to his desk. A bruised knee was a harsh reminder not to forget to push the chair in or he'd run into it again the next time he went to the desk.

He'd occupied this same cabin all five years he'd been on Enterprise, yet he was amazed how difficult it was to find his way around in it when he couldn't see. He had always believed himself to be an observant person, but the numerous bumps from running into things was a humbling, exasperating experience.

Once he'd committed to memory the exact location of each piece of furniture and all the fixtures, he started to work on the smaller items.

Each article of clothing was neatly stored by category in his dresser or closet. Underwear to the left and socks to the right in the top drawer, T-shirts in the second drawer, and so on. He was in the midst of arranging his clothing when Hoshi stopped by. At her suggestion, they made tags in various shapes -- each shape denoting a particular color, such as a triangle for blue -- that she helped attach to the clothing so he'd know exactly what he was putting on when he got dressed.

The next morning, feeling the tags to find black slacks and a blue shirt, he wondered if Hoshi had done research to find out how visually impaired people did things. She seemed very knowledgeable on the subject, but he wasn't sure he wanted to find out she'd been looking into the topic on his behalf. He should have done it himself. Instead, he'd been stumbling around, figuring things out by trial and error. He decided he'd credit her excellent suggestions to her natural talent for finding ways to communicate.

He was pleasantly surprised to find showering and shaving didn't require eyesight. He just needed to be a little more careful with shaving, since he had to do it by touch instead of sight, and it struck him as ironic that the mirror in front of which he was standing to do it was now of no use to him.

Then there was the matter of a cane. Malcolm stubbornly resisted using one until Trip pointed out that not only would a cane lessen his reliance on other people when he wanted to go somewhere, it could be used as a weapon if necessary.

The hardest thing for him once he was back in his cabin, however, was to leave it. As soon as he stepped out the doorway, he was navigating uncharted waters, at least from his new perspective. He knew where things were, but he didn't know if he could get to any of them on his own.

For the first few days, Hoshi, Travis, or Trip would stop by to collect him for meals. After a time, however, as he became accustomed to the route and learned how to work the turbolift controls by touch, he was able to get himself to the mess hall and back without assistance, swinging the cane from side to side near the deck in front of him to detect anything in his path.

That's not to say that everything went smoothly. During one trip to the mess hall by himself, he unknowingly hit a wrong button in the turbolift. He stepped out and went a good fifteen paces before he realized what had happened, and that was only when his way was blocked by a bulkhead that shouldn't have been there if he had been on the proper deck. Retracing his steps, he managed to reboard the turbolift and send it on its way to the destination he wanted. He spent the rest of the ride in the turbolift considering if it was possible to program it to respond to voice commands.

Another aspect of his life that was changing concerned the amount of time he spent alone. He had always been a somewhat solitary person and wasn't much given to socializing. But now it seemed like he had at least one visitor each evening. He assumed they were trying to keep him from sinking into a depression about his blindness and lessen his feeling of isolation. Most likely it was an effort organized by Doctor Phlox.

At least he thought that's what it was. It could be that he was reading more into their visits as a result of his innate paranoia. His natural suspiciousness had been heightened by the loss of his sight.

But even more than the loss of his eyesight, what bothered him was that, for all intents and purposes, he was now useless. He was no longer a functioning crew member. He'd become a mere passenger on the finest ship in Starfleet.

So he found himself in a position where, while he was grateful for company, his visitors probably didn't realize how much it pained him to hear about ship-related business. It reminded him that he'd lost more than his eyesight because of his carelessness. He had become an outsider, no matter how much Hoshi and Travis and Trip tried to keep him up to date.

As far as he was concerned, adjusting to suddenly having no career was worse than being blind. He found himself shying away from thinking about what his future would be like. Perhaps if he knew when he was going to return to Earth, he'd be forced to start making some decisions about what he was going to do. Until then, he'd muddle on as he had been, learning to cope with his disability.

He didn't realize how well he was adjusting to being unable to see until one evening when his door chime rang. He was lying on his back on his bed, his hands behind his head as he listened to an audio novelization on the padd Hoshi had given him in sickbay. He was comfortable, so he didn't get up.

"Enter," he called out, and heard the door open

"Malcolm?" came Trip's voice.

"Come in, Trip."

He heard Trip take a step into the cabin and then stop.

"Why are--" the engineer said.

When Trip didn't finish his sentence or move farther into the cabin, Malcolm levered himself up on his elbows and, turning his head toward Trip, asked, "Is something wrong?"

Trip mumbled something, and Malcolm got the impression that his friend was embarrassed. After a moment, Trip said, "I...uh...almost asked why you were sitting' around in the dark. You mind if I turn on the lights?"

Malcolm smiled, albeit a bit sadly. He hadn't thought about turning on lights for days now.

"Just remember to turn them off when you leave," he told Trip.

* * *

This had to be one of the craziest ideas Malcolm had ever heard of. He was sure Travis had made the whole thing up, but he hadn't been able to get the helmsman to admit it. 

Audible basketball. Who had ever heard of such a thing?

Travis had broached the subject at dinner the other night and, despite himself, Malcolm had been intrigued. No doubt part of his interest was due to his increasing boredom. There wasn't much for a blind person to do on a starship.

He and Travis were in the cargo bay used for half-court basketball. Travis had gotten Trip to rig a basketball to emit a low, continuous tone. The goal also made noise, issuing a rhythmic beeping. Travis seemed especially pleased with the fanfare that sounded when the ball swished through the hoop.

With Travis cheering him on, Malcolm was taking a few experimental shots when he heard the door to the cargo bay open.

"Hey, Malcolm!" came Trip's voice. "How do ya like it?"

"I'll let you know if I ever make a basket," he replied.

The sound of two sets of footsteps came to him where he stood at the foul line but they stopped some distance away. Trip was one of the newcomers, so the other was--?

"Malcolm," said the captain by way of greeting.

"Captain," Malcolm replied with a dip of his head.

"Trip told me about this and I had to come see for myself," Jon said. "Does it work?"

"I'm not sure yet," Malcolm said. "I've been trying to make a goal, but so far, no luck."

A snicker came from Trip. "You weren't very good at making baskets when you could see," he said.

Without thinking, Malcolm responded by slinging the ball in the direction of the engineer, the volume of the tone dropping as it moved away, and heard the baskbetball slap against Trip's palms.

"Your aim doesn't seem to be affected," Jon commented wryly.

Before Malcolm could reply, Trip called out, "Heads up!"

Malcolm heard the basketball's tone coming back toward him. Tilting his head to better gauge its trajectory by the sound of the tone, he put both hands out to one side, but the ball flew on by, grazing his outstretched fingertips.

"Damn!" he muttered under his breath.

"Actually," Jon said, "that was rather impressive, Malcolm. You reacted immediately and managed to get your fingers on the ball. I don't know if I would have been able to do that without being able to see."

Malcolm knew the captain was trying to encourage him, and he had to admit, he had a point. He hadn't really thought about where his hands needed to be to catch the ball -- he'd just reacted to the sound. That he'd been able to come into contact with it at all was amazing. Phlox had been right -- he was coming to rely more on his other senses without conscious thought as he compensated for not being able to see.

"Here you go, Malcolm," said Travis, coming up beside him and putting the ball in his hands. "Why don't you try it again?"

"Great!" he said, spinning the ball in his hands. "Just what I need when I try to do this. An audience."

But he turned around, guided by the beeping of the goal. He set himself and then threw the ball toward the basket. There was a satisfying thump as it smacked against the backboard, followed by a blare of trumpets as the ball swished through the basketball net.

"I'll be damned!" Trip shouted. "You made it!"

Smirking over his shoulder in the direction where he thought the engineer was standing, Malcolm said, "And to think you doubted me."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Malcolm wasn't in a good frame of mind as he made his way to his cabin after a meditation session with T'Pol. Phlox had insisted the Vulcan first officer was the best one to teach him meditation techniques as part of his therapy.

Since Phlox could find no physical reason for his loss of eyesight, the conclusion was that there was a psychological problem. The doctor hadn't come right out and told him he was crazy. What he had said was there was a documented condition where a person has inner conflicts, which in turn act as a catalyst for blindness. It was all in his mind, and Phlox was going to treat it as such. So now Malcolm had to attend sessions to learn how to meditate in the hope of uncovering the underlying cause of his blindness.

If anything, Phlox's comments only reinforced his feeling that losing his ability to see was predestined. Enterprise didn't need a tactical officer who was bonkers. Perhaps it was best that he'd been blinded before he could do any irreversible damage to the ship or any of its crew.

In addition, when Malcolm had teased Trip about his Vulcan neuro-pressure sessions when they were in the Expanse, he hadn't foreseen that he'd someday be in a similar situation. The last thing he wanted was to be the butt of the same sly jokes to which Trip had been subjected.

Phlox had made it clear, however, that the meditation sessions fell under the captain's directive of coping with his circumstances. Malcolm resigned himself to meeting with T'Pol until further notice.

Unless she had other duties that required her attention, Malcolm spent an hour with T'Pol every morning. The first step was to learn how to make his mind go blank to be able to subsequently focus exclusively on one thing. It seemed simple, but Malcolm had yet to master it. Every time he'd try to empty his mind, some errant thought would intrude, and he'd have to start all over.

Today's session had been no different. T'Pol normally used a candle to help her focus when she meditated. Since he couldn't see, she had told him to visualize a candle flame. His effort had been totally derailed this morning when he'd thought it was just as well there wasn't an open flame near him. He'd probably knock the candle over and set T'Pol's quarters on fire. His concentration was shot after that, and one thought followed another in quick succession. T'Pol, in a rare fit of Vulcan pique, had dismissed him after he'd asked if she had a fire extinguisher in her quarters.

Frustrating as his meditation sessions were, they did give him something to do. He was rapidly running through the ship's stock of recreational audio materials. In any case, he couldn't listen to recordings all day.

He'd generally spend an hour or so practicing audible basketball, just to keep himself busy. He'd also taken to visiting the gym. Being blind was no excuse to slack off on keeping physically fit. He could still use a stationary bike, but now he set a timer instead of relying on a readout that told him how many kilometers he'd pedaled. And he took a perverse satisfaction in beating the hell out of the punching bag.

Having successfully navigated the route from T'Pol's cabin to his, he tucked his cane under his arm when he reached his door. As he pushed the buttons to key in his code on the access panel, he debated whether he ought to change into sweats and head to the gym.

There shouldn't be many people in the gym at this time of day. One thing that bothered him about being blind was that, sometimes, people would enter the gym and not identify themselves to him. Perhaps it was because they felt they shouldn't bother him, or maybe they were not well acquainted with him and didn't want to approach him. Knowing someone was there but not knowing who it was, however, made him extremely uncomfortable.

A light rat-tat-tat-tat of footsteps on the deck plating from down the corridor made him turn with a smile in that direction. "Hoshi," he said. "What brings you to B deck?"

"Mail call," she responded. He heard the slap of data disks against her palm. "I have some letters for T'Pol. Speaking of whom, aren't you supposed to be meditating with her right now?"

Malcolm grimaced and turned back to his door. "She let me go early," he said. "I'm not a very good student today."

"Trouble concentrating?" she asked sympathetically as his door slid open.

He stepped in to his cabin and turned back toward her. "Yes. I'm so bad at it that T'Pol lost her patience with me today and threw me out."

"What!"

"Not really," he said with a smirk. "But she did cut short our session today. I'm just not getting the hang of it."

"Malcolm..."

He couldn't tell if Hoshi was reproaching him or not. The corridor wasn't the best place to carry on a conversation, so he gestured with his free hand. "Would you like to come in?"

"If you don't mind," she said.

"It's not like I have much else to do." He stepped back to allow her to enter and, after he felt the air stir as she passed, he closed the door.

"Make yourself at home," he said, taking the three steps to his bed where he put his cane across the foot of it. He put one hand up to touch the shelf above his bunk to make sure he was where he thought he was, then sat down on the bed. He assumed Hoshi would sit at his desk, and a slight scraping noise as she pulled the chair out confirmed that.

After a few moments of silence, he said, "Please quit staring at me."

He heard her sharp intake of breath before she said, "You're becoming quite perceptive."

"Perception has nothing to do with it. If I had just followed a blind person into his quarters, I'd be watching to see if he ran into anything."

"Malcolm," she said in the same tone she'd used in the corridor.

He sighed, expecting a lecture, knowing he deserved one for being rude. It didn't matter that technically he was still her superior officer. This had nothing to do with their professional relationship. She was his friend, and as such, she was entitled to tell him he was being a right bloody bastard. So what she said next took him by surprise.

"I'm worry about you," she said.

He tilted his head to the side. "That's very considerate of you, but there's no need."

She made a little harrumph noise.

"Really!" he insisted, leaning back to rest his shoulders against the bulkhead behind his bunk. "I think I'm managing quite well. Well, except for the meditation."

"I know you're adapting to the physical challenges," Hoshi said. "I wouldn't have expected any less from you."

"Thank you, I think," Malcolm said wryly.

"I've heard about your midnight wanderings."

Frowning, Malcolm said, "I asked Chef not to squeal on me."

"You have to admit, it's not every day somebody locks themself in a refrigerated storage cooler," Hoshi said. "What were you doing in there?"

"Freezing," he shot back with a short laugh. "Until Chef found me, that is." He let his head thunk back against the bulkhead. "I've been familiarizing myself with the ship. I decided to do it during the night shift when fewer people are around."

"Because you don't want anyone helping you?"

"That, and feeling sorry for me," he admitted. "It's hard enough for me to accept someone else's help. It's even worse to know I'm the object of their pity."

He heard Hoshi shift in the chair but she didn't say anything. No doubt his unusual frankness had made her uneasy. He wished he could see her face to better gauge her reaction. Once again he realized the disadvantage in not being able to see another person's expression.

"It's not that bad, Hoshi," he said softly. "At the very least, learning to find my way around the ship is giving me something to do. I need to keep busy. I need to be able to do things without depending on other people all the time."

"I understand," Hoshi said. "I hope you haven't been upset by my attempts to help you."

Malcolm sat up straight. "No, not at all. In fact, how you've treated me illustrates exactly what I'm talking about. You've helped me to learn how to do things, like putting the tags on my clothes, instead of trying to do things for me. You don't treat me like I'm helpless. ... You must have been a great teacher."

"You're welcome," she said softly, "but you've done most of the work. I admire how you've been able to adapt to not being able to see. I don't know if I could do it. Of anything that could happen, I think blindness terrifies me the most."

Hoshi's confession about being scared of not being able to see struck a chord with him. Malcolm remembered when he'd been skewered to the hull by a Romulan mine, and he'd told the captain about his fear of drowning. He knew what it felt like to be overcome by an unreasonable terror, and how difficult it was to tell someone about it.

Hoshi changed the subject. "I was glad to hear you made a visit to the armory."

"Have you got somebody following me around?" he asked, making sure to smile to take the sting out of his words.

"No, but I do have informants," she replied smugly. "Every good communications officer has a network of them."

Putting his hands behind his head and leaning back against the bulkhead again, he asked, "And what did your informants tell you about my visit to the armory?"

"Nothing. Just that you stopped by to check on things."

He abruptly pushed away from the bulkhead and reached for his cane. "That gives me an idea. Care to accompany me to the armory? That is, if you're not on bridge duty right now."

"I was just delivering the mail," she replied. He heard her get to her feet. "Let me drop these letters off at T'Pol's cabin and I'll be right back. Okay?"

"I'll be here," he said.

Hoshi let herself out. Malcolm got to his feet after he heard the door close. He realized with a start that he'd done most of the talking, yet Hoshi's visit had left him feeling better about himself. She had a knack for making people open up. Some of the things he'd said he hadn't told anyone else.

Her easy acceptance of his ambivalent feelings about being blind made him want to try even harder to find out how much he was capable of doing. Hence his sudden inspiration to visit the armory.

* * *

"The phase pistols, sir?"

Malcolm adopted his best stiff upper lip. "Yes, Foster. The phase pistols," he said tartly. "Just because I'm blind doesn't mean I don't remember how to clean them."

"Yes, sir," Foster said doubtfully, but Malcolm heard him move off in the direction of the weapons' locker.

Off to his left, he heard a muffled snicker. Hoshi had yet to say anything since they'd entered the armory, but he was sure she was watching with great interest. He just hoped he didn't screw this up. Not only would he embarrass himself in front of some of his armory staff, but word would most likely get back to the captain through Hoshi.

Foster returned. A metallic clunk signaled several phase pistols being placed on the work table in front of him.

"Thanks, Foster," he said. "Is my tool box here?"

"Yes, sir. It's in your office. Would--"

Hoshi must have given some sign to Foster, for the man stopped abruptly in mid-sentence. Malcolm was unable to keep from smiling.

"That's all right, Foster," he said. "I'll get it."

Using his cane, Malcolm made his way over to his office. As he reached the door, he belatedly remembered that he'd had the tool box with him at the time of the explosion. Someone, probably Trip, had brought it back to the armory. He normally kept it to the right just inside his office door. Probing that area with his cane, he felt it hit something. He carefully bent over, felt for the handle and found it, and picked up the tool box. He returned to the work table as nonchalantly as he could.

"Very good," Hoshi murmured for his ears only as he put the tool box on the table and opened it. "Foster's jaw dropped about a meter."

Malcolm smirked. "To paraphrase Mister Tucker, 'He ain't seen nothin' yet,'" he said quietly.

He quickly found the tool he needed in the well-ordered box. One thing about losing your sight -- if you had been a person who liked to keep things organized and in their place to start with, it was much easier to find what you needed. His natural inclination for order was serving him well.

He held his other hand out toward Hoshi and felt the reassuring weight of a phase pistol slapped into it.

"We're not operating on a patient here," he chided her. "I can only imagine what would have happened to my palm if that had been an old-fashioned scapel."

"Guess where I'm going to put the next pistol," she said in a falsely sweet tone. "You won't have to worry about not being able to see, because the sun doesn't shine there."

He laughed as he removed the pistol's casing and carefully laid it aside. Of all the people on board, Hoshi and Trip treated him almost no differently than before. He appreciated that. Even when Trip did make some stupid comment, like not being able to make baskets even when he could see, the comfortable familiarity of the teasing far outweighed any offense he might take. It made him feel as if there was some semblance of normalcy in his life, and that he might just be able to learn to live with being blind. Not that he liked being unable to see, but you had to work with what you had.

There also was a certain satisfaction in being able to finally do something productive, no matter how menial the task. He efficiently cleaned the internal mechanisms of the pistol. It didn't take long, as there weren't many working parts. He did ask Hoshi to inspect the pieces after he cleaned them, however, just to make sure he didn't miss anything.

"Looks good," she said.

He reassembled the pistol and set it aside. As she handed him the next pistol, she said, "I can't believe you can do this without seeing what you're doing."

Removing the outer casing of the second gun, he said matter-of-factly, "Every good security officer should be able to take apart a phase pistol and put back together in the dark."

"Is that a requirement for the job?" she asked.

"No," he replied, "but you never know what conditions may--"

A violent shudder ran through the ship. Malcolm was enveloped by the unwelcome sensation of floating, his body slowly rising into the air.

Next to him, Hoshi gasped loudly. "Something's wrong with the grav plating!" she said.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Everyone leaving reviews -- you are great. I love your comments!

CHAPTER 8

Hoshi's warning prompted Malcolm to act. The last thing he wanted was to be floating around blind, something which was sure to make him lose his sense of direction. If that happened, he would be hopelessly confused.

He reached out as his feet lost contact with the deck in the armory and, by sheer luck, grabbed the edge of the work table with both hands. The table was anchored to the deck and should hold him in place.

Something hard and metallic lightly grazed his cheek. Having the presence of mind to hook one of his legs around a table leg, Malcolm lifted a hand, its motion feeling eerily languid in zero g, and groped around in the air for the object that had touched his face. He managed to snag it, the shape and size familiar in his palm. It was one of the tools he'd been using on the phase pistols.

"Hoshi?" he called out.

"I'm up here," came the answer from somewhere above his head.

"Are you okay?"

After a moment, she said in a strained voice, "At least I don't have to worry about being in an EV suit if I toss my cookies."

"Work you way over to a bulkhead," he instructed her calmly, seeing a picture in his mind of her floating high above the armory's main floor. "Then try to 'climb' down to the deck. That way you won't fall if the grav plating comes back on suddenly."

"Good idea," came her breathless reply, following by grunting and groaning.

He listened to the sounds she was making, turning his head as he tracked her progress. A breeze that caressed the skin on his face and hands heralded the arrival of another body in his vicinity.

"The internal comm system is down, sir," Foster said from next to him. "I can't contact anyone."

"Was there any indication this was going to happen?" Malcolm asked, still listening to Hoshi. From the sounds of things, she'd made it over to the torpedo racks and was moving "down."

"No, sir."

"This might be just a localized occurrence, but from the magnitude of that bump right before the grav plating went out, it's more likely a ship-wide event," Malcolm said. "Get to Engineering. It's closer than the bridge. Find out what's going on and report back here."

"Aye, sir," Foster replied, a gentle swish in the air signifying his departure.

Heavy breathing came to Malcolm's ears as Hoshi, most likely using tabletops and consoles to pull herself hand over hand, arrived where he was holding position at the work table.

"I should get to the bridge," she said raggedly.

"Are you able?" he asked.

He heard her gulp. "I think so," she said. "I usually have to psych myself up before I do any weightless activity. It's not one of my favorite things. This caught me by surprise."

"You want me to go with you?" he asked.

A laugh which quickly changed to a moan came from Hoshi. "I should be the one asking you that," she said miserably.

With a start, he realized he hadn't considered his blindness. When the grav plating had gone out, he had reacted without thinking, even to the extent that he'd issued orders which -- wonder of wonders -- Foster had followed without question. His training had asserted itself, leaving him no time to worry about how his lack of sight might hamper him. He'd just done what needed to be done.

"I'll be okay," Hoshi said. "What about you? I can help you to your cabin before I go to the bridge."

Before he could answer, he felt himself falling. Perhaps having one leg wrapped around a table leg hadn't been the best position to be in when the grav plating started working again. He wound up sitting on his rump on the deck, his legs stretched out in front of him.

Amidst all the clanks, thuds, and tinklings of unsecured items dropping to the deck, he heard something much heavier crash down nearby. "Hoshi?" he asked in concern.

"I hate it when that happens," he heard her mutter. In a louder voice, she said, "At least I'm not sick to my stomach any more."

Hoshi retrieved his cane from where it had landed and gave it to him, then took off for the bridge, but not before he had extracted a promise from her to tell him what she found out. He remained in the armory, gathering up the pieces of equipment and tools that had scattered about under the effect of zero g.

Instituting a grid search pattern, he slowly walked back and forth across the area, his cane swinging before him to encounter anything out of place. Most of the items he found were small and identifiable by touch. Pliers, microcalipers, cleaning rag, the power cell from the phase pistol he'd been working on. He knew he probably hadn't found everything, but he'd gotten a good start on cleaning up the armory by the time Foster returned.

"I appreciate it, sir," Foster said, "but you really didn't need to do this."

Malcolm dismissed his statement with a wave of his hand. "What did you find out in Engineering?"

"According to Commander Tucker, the ship was struck by some sort of subspace wave. It affected the grav plating, internal communications, and a few other systems like helm control."

"That's odd," Malcolm mused out loud. "Why some systems and not the others?"

There was silence, during which Malcolm imagined Foster was shrugging. Then the man said, "If you'll excuse me, sir, I'll finish putting everything back where it belongs."

Malcolm nodded absently, caught up in trying to figure out what had happened.

* * *

"Damnedest thing I ever saw," Trip said. "One minute everything's hummin' along like usual, and the next -- bam!" 

Malcolm was in the mess hall with Trip and Hoshi for dinner. He'd been surprised when the engineer had joined them. He'd assumed that Trip would still be tied up in Engineering with repair work, but that turned out not to be the case. There wasn't anything to repair.

"And then a few minutes later, everything's workin' again," Trip continued. "We didn't have to fix a thing, other than to pick up everything that had been floatin' around in the air. We ran all the diagnostics afterward, and everything checked out okay."

"How's Crewman Kelly doing?" Hoshi asked, her words interspersed with the clinking of cutlery.

Malcolm heard Trip grunt before answering. "Just a bad sprain," Trip said. "She's lucky she was only a meter or so above the deck when the grav plating came back on, or she might have wound up with a broken leg."

"I could have been in sickbay if it hadn't been for Malcolm," Hoshi said. "We were in the armory when the grav plating went out. He reminded me of one of the basic rules of unexpected weightlessness -- get somewhere where you won't hurt yourself when gravity returns."

Malcolm smiled wickedly. "I just didn't want you falling on me," he said.

The feather-light touch of a napkin slapped against the arm on his side closest to Hoshi. "I would have yelled, 'Catch,'" she said.

"Before or after you tossed your cookies?" Malcolm asked with feigned politeness.

"Uh, guys?" Trip said. "Could we drop this part of the conversation? I'm tryin' to eat here."

"Sorry," Malcolm said, but he wasn't. The easy banter was going a long way toward making him relax. He hadn't felt this at ease since before he'd lost his sight.

As he ate his goulash, Malcolm reviewed the unexplained outages that morning. He wished he could look over the reports that had been filed from the various departments about the incident. Turning his head in Trip's direction, he said, "Foster told me there was a subspace wave of some sort."

"Yeah," Trip said. "Sensors lost contact with it after we passed through it. And the weird thing about it was that there was no damage. It's almost like a giant interrupter switch was thrown, cuttin' off some systems. Once we got by the wave, everything came back online."

"An interruption should have caused some damage," Malcolm said, "if only because some circuits aren't designed to operate that way."

"Definitely weird," Trip said.

"T'Pol couldn't find anything like it in the Vulcan database," Hoshi said. "She theorized it was a random natural phenomenon."

"That means she doesn't know," Trip put in. Malcolm heard the engineer sigh before he continued. "Let's just hope it doesn't happen again. ... So, what were you doin' in the armory when the grav plating went out?"

Malcolm's mouth was full and he couldn't respond immediately. He swallowed, but before he could answer, Hoshi said, "Malcolm was cleaning phase pistols."

"You're kiddin'!" the engineer said. Malcolm didn't need to see to be able to know Trip was looking at him in disbelief.

Malcolm put his best smirk on his face and said, "Tomorrow I'm going to do some target practice."

"Aw, come on, Malcolm!" Trip said. "Audible basketball is one thing, but the idea of you takin' potshots with a phase pistol and not bein' able to see what you're aimin' at--"

Trip broke off abruptly. Malcolm knew his friend was worried that he'd taken offense at his blunt reference to his blindness. Malcolm couldn't blame him. If, a few weeks ago, someone had told him that a blind person was going to be target shooting with a phase pistol, he would have had reservations, too. And only last week, if Trip had questioned his ability to shoot something he couldn't see, he would have agreed.

"I'll have one of the armory staff with me," Malcolm said reasonably. "And the target will make a noise of some sort -- I haven't decided what yet -- that will give me something to aim at."

"You're serious about this, aren't ya?" Trip asked.

Continuing to eat, Malcolm nodded.

After a few moments, Trip said thoughtfully, "Ya know, it could work. Of course, it would have to be a pretty big target."

Malcolm's aim, whether through skill or blind luck, was dead on when he flipped a forkful of goulash. It hit Trip right between the eyes.

(A/N: Just thought you might like to know that the scene at the end of the last chapter where Malcolm is cleaning the phase pistols was the original inspiration for this entire story. One of those "what if's" ... what if Malcolm couldn't see? I bet he could still take apart a phase pistol and put it back together. One thought led to another, and now you're reading this story!)


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Target practice was not going well. Malcolm's relatively easy success at mastering audible basketball had given him false confidence. It was one thing to hit a stationary target, but trying to hit a flying sphere that could change course was another story. His frustration mounted as he missed one shot after another.

"What am I doing wrong?" he muttered more to himself than to the other two people in the armory.

Ensign Welsh, standing off to one side, said, "If I might make a suggestion, sir?"

Malcolm reined in his frustration. Welsh and Foster had agreed to help him with this project, which was rapidly turning out to be an exercise in futility. The two men had rigged the sphere to emit a beeping sound and had entered the target's flying parameters into the device which controlled it. It wasn't their fault he couldn't hit the bloody thing.

"Go ahead, Welsh," he said. "Anything would be an improvement."

"Well, sir, it seems to me that your stance is wrong," Welsh said.

Lowering the phase pistol, Malcolm said, "I'm standing like I normally would to shoot."

"That's just it, sir," Welsh said. "You're standing as if you can see the target. You've got your arm lined up with what would be your line of sight. You might want to try adjusting your stance, or at least the position of your head, so that you're better using your hearing to track it."

If he hadn't had the pistol in his hand, Malcolm would have slapped his forehead. "I should have thought of that," he said ruefully.

"Old habits die hard, sir," Welsh said.

"Set it up again," Malcolm said, altering his stance so that his head was turned with his right ear lined up with his right hand holding the pistol.

He heard the target whiz around, its beeping coming clearly to him. He took a deep breath and concentrated on what he was hearing. He let off four shots in quick succession, fighting the instinct to "look" directly at the target.

The first three shots missed, by how much he had no idea, but the fourth resulted in a reverberating "whang" as it struck home.

Malcolm couldn't keep a grin from his face as Welsh and Foster congratulated him.

* * *

The route from his cabin to the armory was now as familiar to Malcolm as the way to the mess hall. He was becoming so adept at making his way around the ship that he was able to think about other things, instead of concentrating soley on where he was going, as he returned to his cabin after target practice.

Still flush from his success -- he'd managed to get his percentage of hits up to thirty-three percent -- he nevertheless was struck by something he'd been trying to ignore for some time. Welsh and Foster, indeed all the armory staff, acted as if he were their department head. He still had his rank, but there was no way he could resume his former duties.

Why hadn't the captain appointed a replacement for him? The armory staff was well trained and could run the department without him, at least for a time. But the ship needed to have an acting tactical officer.

Maybe the captain was waiting until he was off the ship so as to spare his feelings. Since they didn't know when that would be, however, it seemed negligent to let the position go unfilled.

If he got the chance, he'd ask the captain about it. Better yet, he'd strongly urge the captain to name a replacement. He would insist that a competent officer take over his former duties on a day-to-day basis. He could even offer a recommendation or two.

He arrived at his cabin and entered. Tossing his cane on the bed, he made his way into the bathroom to get a drink of water. He found the cup on the sink and reached for the faucet. Turning on the tap, he listened as the water ran into the cup, the pitch changing as it filled. When the cup was about half full, as indicated by both sound and weight, he turned off the tap.

He was raising the cup to his lips when the deck beneath his feet lurched. Thrown off balance, he came up hard against the door jamb, the cup flying from his hand. He heard it clatter to the deck as he floundered around, trying to find something to hang on to. One hand smacked against something cold and solid, and he grabbed the edge of the sink, tensing as he waited for the grav plating to go out like it had the day before. But as he clung there, he remained upright, his feet on the deck. The dreaded sensation of floating didn't occur.

There was something wrong, however. Both by sound and feel, he could tell the ship had dropped out of warp. The almost imperceptible hum of the engine and the barely noticeable vibrations through the deck were missing.

He made his way out of the bathroom and over to his desk. His finger was on the comm button before he caught himself. He had no right to contact the bridge. He was no longer a functional member of the senior staff, and he'd only be bothering the bridge crew during their handling of whatever this situation was in order to satisfy his curiosity.

Someone would contact him if they thought it was necessary. He'd just have to do what any other passenger on board a starship would do -- he'd have to wait and hope for the best. He didn't like it, but that's the way things were for him now.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there at his desk when the comm beeped. His hand flew out, unerringly finding the correct button to answer the hail. "Reed here."

"_Malcolm," _came Hoshi's voice. _"I thought you might like to know what happened. We hit another one of those subspace waves."_

Malcolm exhaled heavily. He'd figured as much. "Any damage?" he asked.

_"As far as we can tell, no. But the captain ordered the engine shut down as a precaution until Trip can check it out."_

"Thanks, Hoshi. I appreciate you letting me know what's going on."

_"No problem. It's the least I can do after you talked me down in the armory yesterday." _He could hear the amusement in her voice, but it was replaced by solicitude in her next words. _"You're okay, aren't you?"_

He was grateful for her concern but annoyed as well. If he could see, she wouldn't have thought twice about checking on him. But then again, if he could see, he'd be up on the bridge with the rest of the command staff, trying to sort out what was going on.

"I'm fine," he said shortly.

_"I've got to go. Talk to you later."_

The connection was cut, leaving Malcolm in the dark in more ways than one.

* * *

Malcolm was in the mess hall finishing his dinner when Trip came in. The easily recognizable accent of the engineer as he talked with someone near the food cabinets carried to where Malcolm was sitting.

Malcolm took a sip of his tea, his attention focused on Trip across the room. In a few moments, he heard someone walk in his direction.

"You know," Trip said as he sat down, "it's uncanny how you do that."

Malcolm heard a flutter of linen as Trip shook out a napkin before putting it on his lap.

"Do what?" Malcolm asked curiously.

"Look right at me," Trip said. "For a second there, I thought you could see me."

Malcolm sighed. "I wish. Although you aren't the first person I'd pick to look at."

Trip laughed. "Don't blame ya there, buddy."

Malcolm let Trip eat for a while without interruption. He passed the time by listening to the conversations around him. Most of the talk centered on today's run-in with the subspace wave. A couple of maintenance personnel were griping about having to clean up the ship two days in a row. A person he assumed was a med tech was talking about treating the minor injuries that had resulted from the latest shipwide shaking.

Not gleaning any useful information, he asked Trip, "Have you learned anything about this subspace wave?"

"No," Trip replied, his voice garbled as he spoke around whatever he was eating. Something with tomato sauce, from the smell of it. "For something that's not supposed to happen very often, twice in two days seems unusual."

Malcolm took another sip of his tea, his brow knitting as he thought about the two incidents.

"Is the tea that bad?" Trip asked.

Malcolm snorted. Carefully setting down his cup, he put his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. "These outages remind me of something we encountered a long time ago."

"What's that?"

"It seems a lot like when the Xyrillians were feeding off our plasma exhaust to get power for their engine," Malcolm said. "They hid in our plasma wake and we didn't detect them until we ignited the exhaust. We had all kinds of malfunctions, including the grav plating going out, before we knew they were there."

There was no response from Trip. Malcolm knew he was thinking about what else had happened when they'd discovered the Xyrillians. Trip had gone over to their ship to help fix their engine and had come back with a souvenir -- the first male pregnancy in human history.

Malcolm heard the clank of utensils dropped on a plate. "Thanks for killin' my appetite," Trip said disgustedly, followed by the sound of the same plate being pushed aside.

"You have to admit, there are similarities," Malcolm said.

"Yeah, but there are some differences, too," Trip said. "For one thing, there's a small window of time, only a second or two, where the wave registers on the scanners right before it hits."

"It could be some sort of technology we don't know about," Malcolm went on, refusing to be swayed from his opinion. "In fact, it would be a good way to probe the weaknesses of an opponent before launching a full-scale attack."

"You know," Trip said, his voice edged with irritation, "I think you're even more paranoid now that you can't see ."

"Somebody needs to be!"

Trip made shushing noises, then said, "Lower your voice, would ya? People are starin'."

Malcolm took a deep breath. Occasionally he would forget there were other people around. It was easy to do when you couldn't see anything and you were distracted by the pig-headedness of the person sitting across the table from you. In a quieter voice, he said, "At least tell the captain what I said, would you? He should be aware of all the possibilities."

"All right, Malcolm," Trip said. "We've got a senior staff briefing tomorrow morning. I'll mention it to him then."

Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief. Something about these subspace waves felt wrong, and it wasn't just that he'd been weightless during one of them. He wished he could read the reports from the various departments to see if he could find a common denominator to the malfunctions. It was one thing to have a feeling that something was wrong, but if he could find evidence of some kind--

"I've got to get going," Trip said, interrupting his musings. "The captain scheduled the briefing for pretty early tomorrow morning, and I've got to get the report from Engineering finished up by then."

Malcolm nodded and picked up his cup of tea for another sip as Trip left the table. No longer having access to senior staff meetings, the best he could do was ask Trip to pass on his hunch to the captain. Hopefully, the captain would heed it.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Malcolm had always dreamed in color. After losing his sight, he still had dreams, and they were still in color. The morning after encountering the subspace wave for the second time, he awoke from a vivid dream of a brilliant blue sky over a lush green landscape. Jarred awake by the alarm clock, it was a bitter disappointment to open his eyes to the unrelieved blackness that was now his environment.

He sat on the edge of his bunk and scrubbed a hand over his face. He wondered if, over time, he would forget what colors looked like.

Such thoughts would only depress him, and he sternly told himself to stop it. Today he was going to take another crack at target shooting. If he could improve his hit ratio, that ought to cheer him up. He showered, shaved, got dressed, and made his way to the mess hall.

The place seemed empty. Only a few voices were murmuring at the edge of his hearing as he went over to the food cabinets. Footsteps came toward him from behind, and a strong, clear voice said, "Hey, Malcolm."

"Good morning, Travis," he replied as the helmsman came to stand beside him. Gesturing toward the cabinet, he asked, "Would you hand me a plate with pancakes?"

"Sure."

A moment later, a plate was placed in Malcolm's waiting hands. "Thanks, Travis. Where are you sitting?"

"I'm finished with breakfast," he said. "I just stopped on my way out to see if you needed any help."

"Oh." Malcolm tilted his head to the side. There was much less noise than there should have been for the usually busy breakfast hour. "Where is everyone?" he asked.

"We're on tactical alert," said Travis. "We've been picking up intermittent traces of recent warp trails in the area for about four hours, but we haven't come across a ship. The captain wants everyone to stay sharp, so he issued the alert."

Malcolm felt the same prickling at the back of his neck as he had the night before when he'd been talking to Trip about the subspace waves.

"Why wasn't--" Malcolm stopped before he could blurt out the rest of what he had been thinking. He had been about to ask why he hadn't been informed, but the answer was obvious. He was no longer on active duty.

"I've got to go, or I'll be late for the staff briefing," Travis said.

"Of course," Malcolm said. "I'll talk to you later, then?"

There was no reply. Apparently Travis had already left.

Sighing, Malcolm turned around and, using his cane, found the closest table.

* * *

Malcolm arrived at the armory to find there was no one available to assist him with target practice. The personnel were on alert and didn't have time for him. They needed to be able to respond to commands from the bridge at a moment's notice. 

"Sorry, sir," Ensign Welsh told him. "I'd like to help you, but I can't right now."

"That's all right. I'll go putter around in the office for a while."

Malcolm could sense the man's relief. Welsh had enough to take care of during a tactical alert without a blind man underfoot.

Malcolm moved off, swinging the cane in front of him. He didn't need the cane to get around in the armory. He'd been spending enough time here lately that it had become as familiar as his cabin. But he used the cane on the chance that a piece of equipment may have been moved into one of his memorized paths across the main floor. No sense in tripping over something like that and hurting himself or damaging the equipment. Worse yet, he could end up embarrassing himself in front of any crewmen who might be watching.

He closed the door behind him. He'd only been to his office once since the accident, and that had been to retrieve his tool kit before cleaning the phase pistols. Going over to the desk, he reached out with his free hand and explored the surface. It was bare, which was how he'd left it so many weeks ago. It struck him as strange that the staff hadn't piled data padds and other materials there. He would have thought someone would be using the office, if only as a place to fill out reports. Maybe it had something to do with a replacement for him not having been named yet.

He felt his way around the desk and seated himself in the chair. With nothing to do, he amused himself by opening the drawers and checking out their contents by touch. Everything was as he'd left it, even the half full bottle of whiskey he kept for those occasions when Trip would stop by to complain or commiserate about something.

Checking out the desk took only a few minutes. That done, he was faced with a morning of absolute boredom. He could feel the melancholy mood he'd woken up with returning. Maybe he should go to the gym and work out. Or he could go to the hydroponics bay. He found the scents of the various plants, along with the earthy smell of dirt and compost, to be a calming experience.

But he remained seated, drumming his fingers on the desktop. The tactical alert made him uneasy. There was no place he'd rather be than the armory, with the exception of the bridge, under such circumstances. He uttered a curse at his inability to take an active role in what was happening.

His inactivity eventually led him to think about what would happen when he did get back to Earth. He'd have to find something to do. He couldn't sit around the rest of his life. But whatever he did wind up doing, it had to be interesting and challenging, or else why bother? It was either that or spend his days living on a Starfleet disability pension doing nothing, and that was not something that appealed to him.

He couldn't begin to imagine his father's reaction. Stuart Reed was a stubborn man. He hadn't been pleased when his son had tossed aside a proud family tradition of naval service. Malcolm wondered what his father would say about his blindness. No doubt it would be something along the lines of getting what he deserved.

He didn't want to think about what his father would say when he found out his blindness was the result of some sort of psychosomatic condition. He'd been avoiding thinking about it himself. Who in their right mind would want to be blind? He hadn't consciously wished for this to happen -- it just had. It wasn't like he could wish his sight back. He'd already tried that, and it didn't work.

And then there was his poor mum. She'd fuss over him, not letting him do anything for himself.

Malcolm had just decided that he'd have to find a place of his own to live when, for the third time in as many days,the ship shuddered. He instinctively held on to the desk, which was bolted to the deck like other fixtures that weren't moved often, and waited to see if the grav plating would fail.

The gravity remained steady. But the ship bucked again, and this time Malcolm knew it wasn't the result of a subspace wave. That last lurch could only have been caused by an energy weapon striking Enterprise.

With his cane in one hand, he cautiously got to his feet. He made his way to the office door, intending to ask someone what was going on. As soon as he opened the door, however, he heard something he could identify in his sleep -- the high-pitched hum of a phase cannon being fired. Enterprise was fighting back. With the port phase cannon out of commission, that meant either the starboard or the aft cannon had been fired.

Malcolm stood transfixed in the doorway, not wanting to get in the way but desperately needing to know what was happening. He waited, straining his ears to hear what he couldn't see. Several minutes passed but the cannon wasn't fired again.

When he couldn't stand it any longer, he called out, "Welsh?"

"Sir?"

It sounded like Welsh was up at the elevated console. "What's going on?" Malcolm yelled in that direction.

"An unidentified ship fired at us, sir," Welsh called back. "It's gone now."

After only a moment's hesitation, Malcolm made his way to the ladder leading up to the console. He tucked the cane under his arm and climbed the stairs. He shouldn't be doing this, getting in the way, but he had to know what was happening.

"If you could step to the side, sir," Welsh said deferentially yet firmly when Malcolm arrived on the platform.

Malcolm moved over, making sure he wasn't blocking Welsh's access to the console. He stood with the small of his back pressed against the railing that ran around the platform.

"Any damage?" he asked.

"Not that I can tell," Welsh said. "And it was a clean miss on our part."

Malcolm nodded and asked, "The ship appeared after we were hit by the subspace wave?"

"I don't know, sir. It happened so quickly," Welsh told him. "I can review the bridge scanner logs from here, if you like."

Malcolm could hear the uncertainty in the other man's voice. Welsh had plenty to do without being pestered for information. He ought to leave.

Still, the sudden attack by another ship, coupled with the subspace wave, reinforced Malcolm's feeling that Enterprise was being stalked, its weaknesses being probed.

"Were there any system outages this time?" he asked.

"What?" Welsh asked distractedly.

"Were there any system outages this time?" Malcolm asked again.

"None in the armory or weapons systems," Welsh said. "Let me check elsewhere on the ship."

Malcolm heard the clicking of keys. A few moments later, Welsh said, "Power was out on decks B and C. Power relays throughout the ship went down. Internal communications were down. Everything appears to be working now."

As if confirming Welsh's last statement, the comm beeped, and Malcolm heard T'Pol asking for a status report.

As Welsh responded to the request, Malcolm stood lost in thought. Whoever this mysterious attacker was, they apparently could affect another ship's systems while remaining hidden. That was assuming the attacker was responsible for the subspace wave in the first place. As T'Pol had hypothesized, the wave might simply be a rare event, but one that someone had figured out how to use to their advantage. Even so, that implied the attacker could better track the subspace wave than they could.

This most recent instance, with the attacker coming out of hiding and firing upon Enterprise, made him wonder if it had been a test of their defenses, and if something worse was yet to come.

"Excuse me, sir," Welsh said, brushing by him and breaking his reverie.

"I'll get out of your way, Welsh," Malcolm said. He felt with the toe of his boot for the first rung on the ladder. He climbed down -- a more difficult process than climbing up -- and stood indecisively at the bottom of the ladder for a moment.

He hadn't finished cleaning all the phase pistols the other day. He'd been interrupted by the first subspace wave and had never gotten back to them. Cleaning them now would be a good excuse to remain in the armory. He called up to Welsh to inform him what he was going to do, and set to work.

Two hours and eight phase pistols later, Malcolm was wondering if he should switch to cleaning the phase rifles to break the tedium. He'd been hanging around the armory in case something else would happen, but he was beginning to doubt it would. He'd mulled over the three subspace wave incidents as he worked and had come to the conclusion there probably wouldn't be any further disturbances today. There had been one subspace incursion each day for three days in a row now. Maybe it took an entire day to be able to produce one. Or maybe these "random phenomena" took place on what was turning out to be a regular schedule.

Whatever the case, he was due for a break. It was almost lunchtime. He cleared the work table and put the phase pistols back in the weapons locker. He had just closed the locker door, his hand on the latch to lock it, when he hesitated. He'd been relieved from active duty, but that didn't mean he didn't have a responsibility toward the ship. He might not be able to hit much with a phase pistol, but he'd feel better having one on his person.

He opened the locker and took out a pistol. Since he wasn't in uniform, he had no loop from which to hang it. Luckily, the pants he'd put on that morning had large pockets, and he slid the pistol into the pocket on his right side.

As he walked toward the main armory door, the pistol bumping against his leg, he told himself he wasn't doing anything wrong. It wasn't like he was trying to sneak off without anyone knowing he was taking a pistol. As if Malcolm's thoughts had summoned him, Welsh was suddenly standing beside him, grasping him by the arm

"Sir," Welsh said. "You can't do that."

"Do what?" Malcolm asked innocently.

"You can't leave the armory with a phase pistol. I'm sorry, sir."

Welsh did sound contrite, but that didn't stop Malcolm from going on the offensive. "Why not?" he asked, shrugging Welsh's hand from his arm.

"Well, um," Welsh floundered. "You just can't."

"I'm fully rated on phase pistols," Malcolm said icily. "I just tore down and cleaned eight of them, and put them all back together. I know how to handle one of these."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but you're blind."

"Tell me something I don't know, Ensign," Malcolm said, raising one eyebrow. He hoped he was looking directly at Welsh, if only for effect.

"But--"

"You were with me yesterday when I was practicing. I hit one out of every three targets, which is bloody incredible for someone who can't see," Malcolm said vehemently. Taking a deep breath, he said more calmly, "I promise I won't shoot any of the crew with it."

Malcolm could hear the other man shift on his feet.

"Look, Welsh," he said. "We both know all security personnel are to be armed during tactical alerts. I'm still security. If something does happen, I can give the pistol to someone who's with me but not armed. It might mean the difference in a tight spot."

"All right, sir," Welsh said reluctantly.

"That's a good man," Malcolm said.

With a curt nod of his head, Malcolm turned and made his way out of the armory. It wasn't until the hatch closed behind him that he grinned. He'd gotten out of the armory with a phase pistol, and had come up with a perfectly logical reason for doing so.

To get to the mess hall, he took the turbolift to E deck. He was stepping out of the 'lift when a voice from down the corridor called to him.

"Malcolm! Wait up!"

Hoshi's quick footsteps approached. As she came to stand next to him, she asked, "On your way to lunch?"

"Yes. You?"

"The same," she replied, "but I'm glad I ran into you. Here. I've got a communicator for you."

As she placed the device in his hand, he asked, "What's this for?"

Hoshi took his elbow and together they began walking down the corridor toward the mess hall. She was one of the few people he didn't mind helping guide him in that manner, perhaps because he knew she was doing it as a courtesy, not because she thought he really needed the help.

"Every time those subspace waves hit, the internal comm system goes down," she said. "As far as I can tell, it doesn't affect the communicators."

"Is this just for me, or is everyone getting one?" he asked curiously.

"The captain decided that, the next time we hit one of those subspace waves, key personnel should be issued communicators," she said. "You're not going to be in the right place to get one if the time comes, and I thought..." She patted his arm with her free hand. "This way you'll know what's going on."

Malcolm smiled. "Thanks, Hoshi. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," she said.

They walked in companionable silence until Hoshi accidentally bumped against him. She stopped, her grip on his elbow halting him as well. He heard her snicker.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Um. This may be a rather tasteless comment, considering you can't see, but I've got to say it," she said.

"What?" he asked, his curiosity aroused.

"Is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: This chapter is a wee bit shorter than most of the others, but it's what I call a transition. Necessary to the story and for Malcolm. :) Once again, thanks to those who reviewed.

CHAPTER 11

Malcolm was chuckling as he and Hoshi entered the mess hall for lunch. Not only had her risque remark about a pistol in his pocket cheered him up, she hadn't asked why he was carrying one around with him. She apparently understood his need to have some sort of weapon available to him, especially with what Enterprise had been experiencing the last three days. She'd given him a communicator, after all.

They got their food, and Hoshi led him over to a table. Unlike breakfast, the mess hall was crowded.

"We got the last open table," Hoshi said as they sat down.

Malcolm didn't answer. All the noise was hard to sort out. It was loud enough that, with numerous voices overlapping and not being able to hear much of any one, he was becoming disoriented. It was an awful, sickening feeling he could do without. He concentrated on eating, focusing on the taste and texture of his roast beef sandwich and chips, as he tried to block out the cacophony around him.

He must have been doing a good job at it because, some time later, he jumped involuntarily when his arm was gently poked.

"Are you okay?" Hoshi asked.

He nodded jerkily. "Sorry. I was trying to ignore all the racket in here," he said. "Makes it difficult to think."

"It should calm down in a bit," Hoshi said. "It looks like a lot of the crew are about done eating."

Malcolm nodded again, aware of a drop in the noise level now that he was actively listening. He could even make out the words of a conversation at a table nearby.

He'd never been particularly fond of crowds. Being blind put a whole new spin on that dislike. He hadn't realized, now that he couldn't see, what would happen if his auditory sense was overwhelmed. Confusing didn't come close to describing it. It was like being dizzy, but as a result of what he was hearing, not what he was seeing.

The noise level continued to drop as the mess hall cleared out. By the time he and Hoshi finished their food, only a few people remained.

Putting his napkin on his plate, he said to Hoshi, "I expect you have to get back to the bridge."

"That's right," she said. "What about you? What are you going to do this afternoon?"

"I'm not sure--" Malcolm's mouth was forcibly snapped shut as the ship lurched and he was thrown forward against the table. A startled shriek came from Hoshi who, from what he could tell, had been tossed backward as her chair tipped over. Plates and cutlery clattered around him as they crashed to the deck, and exclamations of surprise came from the other diners.

This shouldn't be happening, Malcolm thought. There had already been one subspace event today. If there was going to be another one, it shouldn't be until tomorrow. He revised his earlier theory and came up with a new one. Whoever was stalking Enterprise was now ready for an all-out attack and didn't need to wait an entire day to launch it.

As he clung to the table where he had managed to keep his seat, he heard Hoshi pick herself up off the floor and come over to him.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "At least the grav plating didn't go out. The lights are flickering, though."

"We need to find out what's going on," he said.

As he got to his feet, his hand clasped around the handle of his cane, Hoshi said, "I should get to the bridge. If that other ship has come back..."

"Right," he said. "I'll go with you to the turbolift."

They trailed the flow of departing crew members to the door. As the others filed out before them, Hoshi pulled Malcolm to the side.

"Wait," she said. "Let me try the comm panel in here." A few moments later he heard her mutter, "Damn. It's out."

"That's been the only constant so far in all of this," he told her. "Every time that subspace wave hits, internal communications have been knocked out."

They were stepping from the mess hall into the corridor when the communicator Hoshi had given him beeped. He switched his cane to his left hand and used his right to fish the communicator from his pocket. He opened it with a flip of his wrist, his thumb feeling along the inner surface to find the key to answer the hail. But before he could find it, the captain's voice came through.

_"This is an all-hands call. We are under attack. Man your stations, and pass the word. Repeat -- all crew, man your stations. We are under attack."_

Sure enough, the deck rocked under Malcolm's feet, and only Hoshi's hasty grab of his arm allowed him keep his balance.

"We've taken a hit," he said.

"Come on!" Hoshi said, tugging him down the corridor.

They hurried along as fast as they could, Hoshi leading the way while keeping a grip on his elbow. All the other crew members who had left the mess hall before them were long gone. Malcolm couldn't hear anything other than his and Hoshi's footsteps, his own harsh breathing, and the creaking protest of the ship as some insane helmsman, probably Travis, put it through a series of convoluted maneuvers. Their rush to the turbolift was greatly impeded by the see-sawing motion of the ship, throwing them from side to side in the corridor. If Hoshi hadn't been with him, Malcolm knew it would have been all too easy to lose his sense of direction.

As they staggered along, he realized he hadn't heard Enterprise's phase cannons or torpedoes being fired. Had the subspace wave affected them? Or was their opponent too evasive to shoot at? At least he didn't feel any more of the distinctive reverberations of Enterprise taking hits.

They arrived at the turbolift, and Hoshi pushed the button to summon it, only to curse in some alien language.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"The turbolift isn't working!"

Bracing himself against the bulkhead next to the turbolift door, Malcolm said, "Then you'll have to take the access ladders to the bridge."

"But what about you?"

Before he could answer, the communicator, which Malcolm had been carrying open in his hand, signaled again.

_"Security to decks D and E," _came T'Pol's voice. _"We have been boarded. Security to decks D and E to repel boarders."_

"Oh, no," Hoshi said. "We're on E deck."

"With the turbolifts out, it may take a while for security to get here," Malcolm said. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out the pistol and thrust it toward her. "Take this."

He heard her gulp but the pistol was removed from his hand. "I'd feel a lot better if you could see," she said.

"You and me both," he replied. "But right now we're the only line of defense until security gets here."

"What should we do?"

"We're going to Engineering," he replied. "If intruders are on D and E decks, it has to be because that's where the engine is located. As far as I know, the one thing that subspace wave hasn't been able to disrupt is our propulsion. They get us dead in the water and they can take us apart piece by piece."

They started off toward Engineering, but after a few steps, Hoshi slowed beside him.

"It's almost pitch black in here," she said. "The lights are flickering off and on, and staying off longer than they were in the mess hall."

"What about the emergency lighting?" he asked.

"It's not coming on."

Malcolm laughed, but it was a harsh sound with no humor.

"What?" Hoshi asked apprehensively.

"If the intruders can't see, I have the advantage."

He heard Hoshi's quick intake of breath. "Malcolm, no! You can't!"

"Yes, I can," he said confidently.

_"Foster to the bridge!" _squawked the communicator in Malcolm's hand._ "Intruders have taken over Engineering. I have a man down. I'm holding position at the access hatch. Instructions?"_

The communicator crackled with the captain's voice. _"What about the Engineering staff?"_

_"I don't know, sir," _Foster replied. _"The lighting is almost gone. I can't see much."_

_"Wait for reinforcements,"_ the captain ordered. _"They're on their way."_

"We can't afford to wait," Malcolm said to Hoshi. He held out the communicator. "Contact the bridge. Tell them to cut the power for the lighting to all of D and E decks."

He felt the communicator removed from his hand. As Hoshi talked to the bridge, Malcolm reclaimed his phase pistol from her and checked the settings -- power on, setting on stun -- and heard the reassuring hum of the energy cell warming up.

_"It's too dangerous!"_ came the captain's voice over the communicator in response to Hoshi's request.

Malcolm reached out and found Hoshi's hand, holding it so that his voice could be picked up by the communicator in her grasp. "Sir, I know what I'm doing. This may be the only chance we have, especially if they've taken the Engineering crew hostage."

The captain didn't reply, and Malcolm pushed his advantage. "I know my way around there, sir. I've memorized the layout. I don't need to see to find my way around. And I'll have Hoshi along with me, if there is anything to see."

There was another moment of silence before the captain said, _"Go."_

"Give us two minutes, then turn out the lights," Malcolm said.

_"You've got it," _came the captain's reply._ "Good luck."_

Malcolm released his grip on Hoshi's hand. "All right. Let's get to Engineering."

As they started off, the ever-present, underlying throb of the warp engine faded away. Enterprise had been disabled.


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Malcolm and Hoshi's rush to Engineering was delayed by a quick detour to a storage locker stocked with emergency supplies. At Hoshi's request, they'd gone there to get a couple of flashlights.

After rummaging around in the locker for a minute, she said, "Got them!"

"Let's go," he said, letting her take his hand to guide him along the corridor. He knew the route to Engineering, but it was quicker right now for Hoshi to take the lead while there was still light for her to see.

She halted abruptly when they reached the intersecting corridor that would take them to Engineering.

"Our two minutes must be up," she said. "The lights just went out. I can't see a thing."

From the communicator messages they'd overheard when they were leaving the mess hall, Malcolm knew that Foster ought to be somewhere down this corridor keeping watch on the main entry to Engineering. He called out the man's name.

"Lieutenant Reed? Is that you?" responded Foster from farther down the corridor.

Malcolm realized Foster must be holed up midway down the corridor in the maintenance recess, an indentation in the corridor bulkhead where junction panels were located. "Yes," he called back, wincing as his voice seemed to echo off the bulkheads.

Now it was his turn to lead. Holding Hoshi's hand, he led her quietly through the darkness to where Foster was waiting.

"How did you get here so quickly?" Malcolm asked as he and Hoshi squatted down in the recess with Foster.

"I was on my way back to the armory from lunch," Foster replied.

"How did you get out of the turbolift?" Hoshi interjected.

"I didn't," came the reply. "Welsh and I were using the access ladders, seeing who could get to the armory first. It's sort of a friendly competition we have."

Malcolm grinned briefed at the man's explanation, then turned serious again. "Give him one of the flashlights, but don't turn it on," he instructed Hoshi. The singed smell of burned flesh, along with the cloying scent of blood, wafted by his nostrils. He sniffed, trying to pin down what he was smelling. "Foster, are you hurt?"

"No, sir," Foster said. "That's Welsh. He was shot. He passed out while I was dragging him here after the intruders took over Engineering. He's lost a lot of blood."

Malcolm thought for a moment. The mess hall and the lower level of Engineering weren't the only things on this deck. Sickbay was, too.

"Hoshi, get to sickbay and bring the doctor back here," he said. "Don't use your flashlight. Keep your hand on the bulkhead. When you get to the intersection where we turned, go straight through and pick up the bulkhead again on the other side. That should take you right to sickbay's double doors."

"Right," she answered, and he heard her move off.

"Now what, sir?" Foster asked.

Now what indeed. Malcolm had been so focused on getting to Engineering that he hadn't thought what he'd do once he arrived.

"What can you tell me about the intruders?" he asked Foster.

"Not much, sir," Foster said. "I only caught a glimpse of them before they took over Engineering and shut the hatch. They're armed with hand weapons of some type. They're humanoid -- two arms, two feet, a head. But they have what look like gills in their neck."

"Gills?"

"Yes, sir. Gills. Like fish."

"Any idea how many there are?" Malcolm asked.

"I only saw three," Foster said, "but there could be more. ... Sir, what are we going to do?"

Glad that Foster couldn't see him in the pitch black, Malcolm smiled. Foster seemed to have forgotten that he was operating under a handicap.

"What about our people in there?" Malcolm asked.

Foster huffed. "They were being held in a corner, it looked like."

"The better to keep an eye on them and under control," Malcolm muttered.

Foster remained quiet, and in the silence Malcolm could hear the sounds of someone making their way furitively toward them. A moment later, Hoshi's voice came softly to his ears. "Malcolm?"

"We're still here," he said.

There was some rustling as Hoshi and another person who smelled of antiseptic crowded into the maintenance recess.

"Where's my patient?" asked Phlox.

"Propped up against the back bulkhead near the panels," Foster said.

Malcolm could hear the Denobulan inching carefully in that direction.

"I'll need light to see what I'm doing," Phlox said.

"Just for a few moments," Malcolm said. "Hoshi. Foster. Look away from the light. I don't want you to ruin your night vision." He heard a faint click as Phlox turned on a flashlight. "There may be some Engineering control panels with lights still working. They won't provide much light, but enough that you may be able to see something. If only we knew what's going on in Engineering!"

"I can help with that," Hoshi said. "One of the panels here has internal communications relays. If I can tap into them, we can eavesdrop on Engineering."

"I need to get this man to sickbay immediately," Phlox interrupted them in a no-nonsense tone. "Someone will have to apply pressure to the wound to staunch the bleeding while we move him. I may need assistance in sickbay as well."

Malcolm would much rather Foster remained and Hoshi went with Phlox, but Hoshi had the expertise to deal with the communications relays.

"Foster, go with Doctor Phlox," he said.

"Aye, sir."

As the doctor instructed Foster where to apply pressure, Malcolm told Hoshi to start working on the relays.

"I'm going to need light to do this," she said.

"Damn," he muttered. "All right. It can't be helped. Try to keep it as close to the relays as possible."

Another faint click came to his ears as Hoshi turned on her flashlight. He heard her remove the panel cover and place it on the deck.

"Excuse me, Lieutenant," Phlox said as he brushed by Malcolm.

The sickly sweet smell of blood invaded Malcolm's nostrils again as Phlox and Foster passed by with their burden. After they left, he asked Hoshi, "How's it coming?"

"Give me a minute, would you?" she retorted. "Normally it's my job to keep these things working, not mess them up."

Malcolm grinned at her fiesty reply. He heard a sizzle, then caught a whiff of burnt circuitry.

"Oops," Hoshi murmured. "Somebody's going to have to fix that later."

"Hoshi?" he asked.

"I had to short out a circuit to make this work," she said. "There. We can listen in on Engineering here on the comm panel, or I can set your communicator to pick it up."

"The communicator can do that?" he asked.

"Yes, but the drawback is that it won't be able to do anything else," she said. "You won't be able to pick up anything but what's coming through the comm system from Engineering, and you won't be able to contact any place but Engineering."

"We need to keep the communicator operational," he said. "Let's hear what's going on."

She didn't reply, but he heard her working at the panel. A moment later, the sound of several voices, one particularly strident, came through, and Malcolm moved closer to the panel to better hear.

_"How long do ya think you can keep us cooped up like this in the dark?"_ Trip's voice demanded.

An indistinct voice came over the communicator, so garbled that Malcolm couldn't tell if the person was speaking English or not. But something else came through loud and clear -- the sound of a body being struck by something hard, and the resulting moan of whoever had been hit.

There was something else, too. Malcolm couldn't identify it. None of the equipment in Engineering made that sound. It was a fluttering susurration, rhythmic, with a slight rasp.

"What is that?" Hoshi asked.

Foster had said the intruders had gills. Could it be they were hearing the intruders breathe? The longer he listened, the more he became convinced the sounds were coming from living beings.

"That's going to be the difference in who wins this fight," Malcolm replied tightly.

* * *

Malcolm eased open the hatch to Engineering. Hoshi, right behind him and peering into the dark over his shoulder, squeezed his shoulder twice. According to a system she'd improvised that would allow them limited communication without speech, that meant all the lighting was out in Engineering. 

Tilting his head to the side, he strained to listen. There were footsteps to his right, the careful tread of someone who couldn't see where they were going. A low murmuring of voices came from farther away, and he could make out an occasional word or phrase. That must be the Engineering crew. Turning his head, he picked up another set of footsteps above them on the walkway.

The strange, raspy whisper of the aliens' breathing overlaid all the sounds.

Although he wasn't certain, there had to be an intruder at the main warp controls. If he was taking over a ship's engineering department, that's where he'd be.

Easing back away from the doorway, he pulled Hoshi with him. With his mouth close to her ear, he whispered his findings. He felt her head dip in an affirmative. Her hearing was the most sensitive of anyone's on board, with the exception of T'Pol. No doubt Hoshi had heard much the same, if not more, that he had.

"What do we do?" she whispered.

"I'm going on the assumption that the intruders can't see in the dark," he whispered back. "We may be able to sneak up on some of them one by one, and I can take them out. I can't use the phase pistol, because its beam would give our location away."

"What do I do?" she asked.

"You're my eyes. If anyone shoots at us, I'm depending on you to pull me to cover."

Scooting back over to the open hatch, he heard the slow tread of feet on the upper level of Engineering. He listened for a minute. Whoever was up there was pacing the length of the walkway back and forth on the starboard side. To one side of the intruder would be the bank of panels built into the bulkhead, to the other would be the railing. If he could time it right...

He moved back away from the hatch again. He put the phase pistol in his pocket and whispered to Hoshi, "Give me the communicator."

A moment later, she tapped him on the arm and put the device in his hand. Speaking as softly as he could, he called the bridge and made a request, and received a quiet acknowledgement. He edged back to the hatchway and listened, his finger resting on a button on the communicator. The alien on the walkway was still carefully trodding back and forth. Malcolm waited until the intruder reached the end of the walkway, envisioning the alien turning to retrace his steps. One hand on Hoshi's arm to warn her something was about to happen, Malcolm pushed the button.

The response was immediate. The starboard side of the ship tilted up steeply as the helm engaged thrusters on that side. As Malcolm and Hoshi slid away from the hatch as the deck canted at a steep angle, surprised cries came from the Engineering crew, along with the thud of something heavy hitting the deck just below where the intruder on the walkway had been.

One down, Malcolm thought grimly. He pressed the communicator button again, and the ship slowly began to right itself.

"We're going in now," he whispered to Hoshi.

As quietly as he could, Malcolm opened the hatch farther to allow them to pass through. Once inside, he drew Hoshi to the side, and they hunkered down and listened. The startled exclamations from the captured crew members had died down, and the aliens' breathing was more noticeable.

He was certain now there was an intruder at the elevated warp controls. Some of the unusual exhalations were coming from that direction.

Malcolm carefully set aside his cane and tugged off his boots. When he finished, he found Hoshi's hand and placed it on one of his feet. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing when her fingers accidentally tickled him as she grazed his instep. But she got the idea and, by her movements as she brushed against him, he could tell she was removing her own boots.

He wished he could tell Hoshi what he was planning. They'd worked out a limited number of signals based on touch. There was no way, however, that he could specifically relay that he was going to climb up to the elevated warp controls and that he wanted her to stay at the foot of the ladder. He'd have to improvise and hope she understood.

Standing up, he pulled Hoshi to her feet. He led her over to the base of the warp control platform, holding his breath as he counted the three steps that should take him to the platform.

Along with the ominpresent breathing, Malcolm could hear the intruder shifting his feet above them on the platform. He didn't understand why they weren't doing anything. They should be searching for emergency lighting. Or maybe they thought the lights would come back on like other systems had once they'd passed through the subspace wave. The intruders probably weren't aware that the lack of illumination was deliberate, but if it continued much longer, they would become suspicious.

Gliding silently in stocking feet over to the access ladder the farthest away from the intruder, Malcolm put a foot on the bottom rung. He guided Hoshi's hand to the rail, but also patted her shoulder, hoping she'd understand his meaning. But, when he put his other foot on the next rung, he felt Hoshi move to climb the ladder behind him. He turned slightly, finding the top of her head with his hand, and pushed down. A moment later, one of her hands grabbed his and squeezed.

Malcolm caught himself before he exhaled noisily in relief. The one quick squeeze meant she understood. He squeezed her hand back, let go, and stealthily climbed to the top. The breathing coming from the opposite end of the platform was louder now, and he could detect what sounded like grumbling mixed in with it. Taking a few moments to compose himself after stepping onto the platform, Malcolm gauged the distance separating him from the intruder.

Slowly and silently filling his lungs with a deep breath, Malcolm tensed on the balls of his feet, then launched himself head-first. It was a weird sensation, going against his instinct not to throw himself at something when he couldn't see.

His head impacted on a hard yet yielding body, and his arms wrapped around it just long enough to get a grip. The whispery breathing of the intruder changed to a hoarse whistle as it tried to keep its balance. But the attack was unexpected, and Malcolm's momentum pushed the body backward. Malcolm hung on, going over the edge with the intruder and using him to cushion his own fall. They hit the deck with a resounding crash.

After the echoes died away, there was absolute silence, both from around him and from the intruder beneath him. Then a few subdued murmurs came from where Malcolm believed the group of Enterprise crewmen were. Using that as cover, he quickly got up, accidentally brushing against the alien's gills as he did so. They were cold and rubbery. A sticky liquid had oozed onto his fingers when he'd touched them, and he grimaced in revulsion.

He found the ladder by touch and, using his hand to follow the base of the platform, quietly made his way back to where he'd left Hoshi on the other side. Her hand was still on the ladder railing. He grasped it, only to have her slide her hand out from under his and grab him, yanking him under the platform. She pulled him down to a squatting position, then gave his hand two quick squeezes, followed by a longer one. It was one of their recognition signals. It meant the panel lights were on.

He wondered when that had happened. Surely Hoshi wouldn't have remained exposed if the panel lights had come on while he was on the platform. It wouldn't have been as if a spotlight had suddenly shone on her, but there would be enough illumination that her silhouette would be plainly visible to anyone looking in her direction.

She should have taken cover. Or would she? She knew how important it was that she act as his eyes. If she had moved and he couldn't find her, he might have been backlit by the panel lights and been detected. Worse yet, he knew how he would have reacted if she'd left her position and he unknowingly ran into her elsewhere -- chances were she'd wind up like the last intruder he'd tangled with.

He fought the urge to curse in exasperation. What had he been thinking? He was blinder than Phlox's bat. His arrogance in his abilities would most likely wind up getting him killed, and Hoshi as well. Enterprise would still be at the mercy of alien intruders who had taken over Engineering. He was insane to think he could do this without being able to see.

He seriously doubted he would have attempted something like this if he had been able to see. But he'd become so over-confident in his new-found abilities that everything was going to blow up in his face again, just like the cannon upgrade had.

It was too late for second thoughts, however. The sudden tightening of Hoshi's grip on his hand alerted him to approaching danger. A measured tread was coming from around the side of the warp core. The footsteps were accompanied by the fluttering breathing he associated with the aliens. One of them must be coming to check on the commotion Malcolm had caused.

Malcolm took the phase pistol from his pocket and tracked the intruder's movements by his sounds. The pistol would give away their position, but it couldn't be helped. He and Hoshi were in a relatively safe spot under the platform. If he left its cover to attack the intruder, not only would he expose himself, but he'd lose his sense of direction in the ensuing scuffle. Besides, any other aliens in the compartment had to be suspicious about what was going on by now.

The phase pistol was his only recourse in this situation. He kept it aimed in the direction of the oncoming footfalls. When they were directly in front of him, he fired.

He barely heard the body hit the deck over the startled cries coming from the captive crew members.

"There's another one with us!" he heard Trip shout.

Immediately, Hoshi was tugging him out from under the platform. He almost tripped when his foot rammed into the body of the intruder he'd just shot. Hoshi's grasp fell away as he stumbled.

A dull thud of flesh being hit by something hard came from off to one side, followed by a grunt and something tumbling to the deck.

Without thinking, Malcolm turned in that direction and called out, "Hoshi?"

There was no answer.

In the eerie silence that followed, devoid of even the strange alien breathing, Malcolm suddenly realized the one thing he'd feared most had happened. He didn't know which way he was facing. He was totally disoriented.

The element of surprise lost and his position vulnerable, Malcolm crouched and slowly turned in a circle, desperately listening for anything.

(A/N: I know. Another cliffhanger. You'll find out tomorrow what happens to them.)


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews of the last chapter. (sighs happily) You like my story!

CHAPTER 13

Malcolm clenched the phase pistol tightly in his hand. Not only could he not see anything, he couldn't hear anything, either. It had gone deathly quiet in Engineering. There were no noises from the crew, and there were none of the strange breathing sounds from the aliens.

He was worried about Hoshi. He surmised she was lying somewhere nearby on the deck -- hopefully not dead, only unable to answer. But as much as he wanted to know what had happened to her, he didn't have time to dwell on that now.

According to Trip's shouted warning, there was another intruder somewhere in Engineering. But where?

He silently begged for somebody or something to make a sound, anything to give him a reference point so he could figure out which direction he was facing.

Listening as hard as he could, he turned his head to one side, then the other. A wave of dizziness washed over him as spots suddenly danced before his eyes, and he almost dropped the phase pistol. He'd never experienced anything like this since he'd lost his sight. He'd been living in darkness, the blackness unrelieved by even the faintest glimmer of light. Was he so disoriented right now that his mind was conjuring up a visual memory to go along with the dizziness?

He shook his head, but the specks become brighter instead of going away. The pinpricks of blue and green and red bobbed and weaved around him like some anemic fireworks display. He quit moving his head, but the lights remained, their erratic movements also coming to a halt to glow in the darkness before him.

His breathing hitched as a new realization struck him like a thunderbolt. He was seeing. Really seeing! The colored specks were the lights on consoles and panels in Engineering. It was exactly what he'd expect to see if the main lighting was out and the only illumination came from the panel lights.

Another surge of dizziness made him sway on his feet. It had been a while since he'd had to process what his eyes were showing him. Broadening his stance to keep his balance, he tried to shift his focus. Instead of looking at the lights, he peered into the surrounding darkness.

Off to his right, an unbroken area of black had to be the warp engine. He glanced up and saw the soft lavender and blue lights of the control panel on the elevated platform. Having established where he was, Malcolm's spirits rose, but he tamped down his joy at being able to see again. There would be time for that later -- if there was a later -- when everyone was safe.

A grunt followed by the sound of someone choking split the silence. Both Malcolm's head and his hand holding the pistol jerked in that direction. What should have been a solid pattern of console lights was blocked in places by patches of darkness. It had to be the crew members standing in front of that panel.

Then, without warning, the overhead lights came on. For a few moments, Malcolm thought his blindness had returned, but he blinked rapidly and was able to clear his vision of the tears generated by the glaring brightness.

The first thing he saw was the Engineering staff clustered in a group in front of one of the auxiliary panels about six meters away. It was the panel that controlled the department's environment, including the lighting.

At the edge of the group was an alien in a dark tunic, trousers and heavy boots. He could pass for human but for the fluted gills lining his neck and which pulsed as he breathed. Once again the respiration of the alien rasped in the air, and Malcolm realized the intruder must have been holding his breath before the lights came on so as not to give his own position away.

Either one of the crewmen or the intruder had turned on the lights. But who had done it wasn't important. What mattered was that the intruder had taken advantage of the situation. He had one burly arm around Trip's neck, and in his other hand he held a wicked-looking gun to the engineer's head.

A gun held to a hostage's head outweighed Malcolm's gun aimed at the intruder. Malcolm would have to retreat, or drop his weapon and surrender. If he didn't, Trip could very well end up dead.

Retreat or surrender. Malcolm couldn't see another option.

A second revelation in as many minutes struck Malcolm. No one realized yet that he could see.

The problem was that the alien didn't know he had been blind. But, if he could make the intruder think that he couldn't see, he might be able to lull him into a false sense of security. The alien would discount him as a threat, and all Malcolm would have to do is wait for an opening.

Other than to blink, Malcolm hadn't moved since the lights had come on. Now he swiveled his head slowly, letting his eyes take on a far-away look.

"Malcolm!" Trip called out, only to gag harshly when the intruder tightened his grip around his neck.

"Be quiet!" grumbled the alien, his voice a low bass rumble punctuated by the flapping of his gills.

Malcolm jerked his head toward Trip and his captor. Keeping the pistol held out before him, Malcolm let his eyes track to the side as if listening, doing his best to imitate someone who is blind.

Trip tried appealing to the intruder. "He can't hurt you," he said. "He can't see. He's blind!"

"Trip!" Malcolm cried angrily, turning his head toward the pair again, but making sure he looked past them.

"Malcolm!" Trip yelled hoarsely, struggling to keep the alien's arm from clamping even tighter around his neck. "The lights are on. He can see you. You'll get yourself killed!"

The intruder issued what sounded like a laugh. "If you cannot see and you shoot, you will hit one of your shipmates," he said in that deep, fluttering voice which grated on Malcolm's nerves. "I am in their midst, with a weapon aimed at the head of the noisy one. Drop your weapon now."

Malcolm shifted his weight, trying to appear uncertain, but kept the pistol aimed in the general direction of the pair even as his eyes focused on something behind them.

"Drop it now!" the alien demanded impatiently.

"I can't," Malcolm responded. "It's got a hair-trigger. It could go off when it hits the deck."

He saw Trip's startled expression but ignored it. Trip knew the phase pistols weren't that sensitive.

"The rest of you -- move away," the alien ordered. When the crew members were too slow to comply, he increased the pressure around Trip's neck. The engineer gasped for air, his hands pulling uselessly at the alien's arm, and the crewmen hurriedly moved to the side. "You! With the weapon," the alien said. "Step toward me."

Malcolm took a step, not toward the alien, but toward the Engineering crew off to the side.

"Not that way!" roared the intruder.

"I can't see where you are!" Malcolm said, trying to infuse his words with a mix of frustration and fear. "Maybe you should come to me."

When the alien didn't respond, Malcolm shifted his grip on the pistol, letting it slide back along his palm so that he was holding it by the barrel with the hand grip toward the alien.

The alien began shuffling toward him. Trip was still in his grasp and providing an effective shield. Malcolm waited, keeping his gaze unfocused, until they were a meter away. Then he shifted his gaze to look Trip straight in the eye and said, "Duck!"

Trip's eyes flew open wide in surprise, but he dropped like a ton of duranium, sliding out from under the startled alien's grasp. In one smooth motion, Malcolm flipped the pistol back up into position, his hand clasping the handle and his finger finding the trigger, and fired. The alien collapsed on the deck in a heap beside Trip.

Malcolm took a step closer and nudged the alien with his sock-clad foot. When there was no response, he shifted his gaze to where Trip was sitting on the deck. "You all right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Trip rasped out, rubbing his throat.

Malcolm reached over and grasped Trip by the upper arm to help him up. Trip's eyes never left him the whole time, and he continued to stare in amazement at Malcolm after he gained his footing.

"You can--" Trip started, but had to stop to cough. "You can see?"

Malcolm smirked and nodded. Then he quickly sobered. "Where's Hoshi?"

A moan came from near the warp engine control platform, and both men hurried in that direction. Hoshi was sitting under the platform, her normally neat hair coming out from her ponytail and a bruise darkening her forehead.

"What happened to you?" Trip asked in concern.

Hoshi dropped her head into her hands and gingerly touched her injury. From between her fingers, she said, "I couldn't see where I was going. I think I ran into the ladder and knocked myself out."

As Trip dropped to a squat to check Hoshi's injury more closely, Malcolm glanced around. The Engineering staff were trussing up the intruders with lengths of wiring and cable ties. All the security personnel would have to do is take the prisoners to the brig.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the communicator and contacted the bridge. He relayed that Engineering was secure. He was about to inquire about the overall situation when the deck shuddered.

_"It is another subspace wave,"_ came T'Pol's voice over the communicator.

The lights in Engineering flickered but didn't go out. Malcolm automatically reached over and grabbed the ladder railing in case the grav plating was affected. The gravity remained steady, but the startled exclamations of the Engineering staff alerted him to a new development. A shimmering effect was enveloping the intruder he'd just stunned. He looked around and saw the same thing happening to the other fallen intruders. Within moments, they were gone.

"Reed to the bridge," he said into the communicator. "The intruders have been transported off the ship."

_"Acknowledged,"_ came the captain's voice. _"Their ship is leaving, too."_

Malcolm signed off, closed the communicator, and turned his attention back to where Trip was helping Hoshi to her feet. Gesturing toward her forehead, Malcolm said, "You should get to sickbay and let Phlox look at that."

Hoshi glanced at him and did a double take. "You can see?" she asked. "When did that happen?"

He smiled. "Some time after you knocked yourself out."

She started to laugh, but winced and put a hand to her head. "That hurts," she said. "You ought to let Phlox take a look at you, too." At his stubborn expression, she added, "You know the captain will order you to do it if you don't."

Malcolm sighed. She was right. He didn't understand why his sight had returned. No doubt Phlox would have some psychological mumbo-jumbo to explain it. Best to go and get it over with.

Trip excused himself to oversee any repairs that might be needed, and Malcolm went with Hoshi toward the exit. Retrieving their boots from where they'd taken them off by the hatch, he handed Hoshi's smaller pair to her. He slipped his boots on, but she made no move to put on hers.

At his quizzical look, she said, "I feel a little woozy. I think I'll leave them off for now."

As they made their way out of Engineering, Hoshi chuckled ruefully. "I must look a sight. No boots, a huge bruise, and I know my hair's a mess."

Malcolm gave her a sidelong glance and smiled. "Oh, I don't know about that. You look pretty good to me right now." He paused halfway through the doorway and glanced back at the bustle in Engineering as the crew put things back in order. "Everything looks good."

Turning back to leave, his gaze fell on his cane where he'd left it by the hatch. He decided he'd leave it. He didn't need it any more.

(A/N: No, this isn't the end. There's one more chapter to go. Got to tie up all those loose ends! And there's one more little twist, too.)


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

EPILOGUE

Malcolm stepped into the mess hall. Before going over to the food cabinets, he took a moment to survey the room. Most of the tables were occupied, and he saw more than one person smile as they looked in his direction. Word apparently had spread about his sight being restored.

Embarrassed at being the object of so much attention, he went over to the cabinet and, turning his back on the mess hall diners, savored being able to see as well as smell Chef's offerings. Although the sweet and sour chicken had a tempting aroma, a thick steak caught his eye. He decided to take the steak, knowing he was going to relish seeing what he was cutting into. Stepping over to the next cabinet, he found a slice of pineapple upside-down cake. Perfect!

He went to the beverage dispenser, got a cup of hot tea, and turned around to face the room. No one was looking at him now except two people seated in the corner. With a smile, he walked over to them.

"May I join you?" he asked.

"We'd be upset if ya didn't," Trip replied genially.

"Please do," Hoshi chimed in. "What did Doctor Phlox say?"

Malcolm put his food on the table, sat down, and put a napkin on his lap before answering. "I've been given a clean bill of health," he said. "The doctor has cleared me for duty shifts, starting tomorrow morning. With the captain's permission, of course."

"That's wonderful!" Hoshi said.

Trip nodded in agreement, but he frowned as he looked at Malcolm. "Did Phlox figure out why you were able to see again all of a sudden?"

Malcolm shrugged as he cut into his steak. "As he pointed out to me on several occasions during the last few weeks, there was no reason that I couldn't see. No physical reason, that is. It was psychological." Malcolm shook his head in disgust. "Hysterical blindness, indeed."

"You are the least hysterical person I know," Trip said.

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "I like to think so," he said.

"You got your sight back at the best possible time," Hoshi said. Raising a hand to touch the bruise on her head, she added, "The timing was impeccable."

Malcolm nodded as he chewed the first bite of his steak. He swallowed and said, "Phlox thinks our being boarded by intruders had something to do with it."

"How's that?" Trip asked.

"All along he's been telling me I could see," Malcolm said. "According to the doctor, sometimes that's all it takes in a situation like this -- telling the person he can see and -- voila! -- he sees again. But for some reason, that didn't happen." Malcolm lowered his voice as he looked away from the two curious faces staring at him. "Phlox believes that I had to prove to myself that not only did I need to see, my shipmates needed me to be able to see, too."

Malcolm looked down at his plate as he felt his face start to flush. He normally wasn't this open about his inner feelings. And there was no way he was going to tell them about Phlox's lecture on insecurity and the pitfalls of self-doubt and regret.

He glanced up to see both Trip and Hoshi smiling at him. He gave them an awkward half smile in return and cut another piece of his steak. Seeking to change the subject, he asked Hoshi, "What did Phlox say about that trophy you're sporting?"

"No concussion, thankfully," she said. "But it's embarrassing. I mean, how stupid was that? I ran into the ladder and knocked myself out."

"You couldn't see where you were going," Malcolm pointed out.

"Yes, but you didn't seem to have any trouble getting around Engineering," she said.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Malcolm said. "When I tripped on that intruder and you weren't holding on to me any more, I didn't know where I was at. I thought..."

He hesitated. He wasn't going to tell them that he'd experienced the most intense moment of doubt and self-recrimination he'd had since he'd been blind. Perhaps, at that moment when he felt helpless and everything was out of his control, his subconscious had decided it was time to quit wallowing around in his own pity and get back to the most important thing he could do -- protect his ship and his shipmates.

Trip and Hoshi were staring at him, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't say anything, Trip asked, "You thought what?"

Malcolm shook his head. "Nothing. It's not important. ... Phlox also said that Ensign Welsh will recover. He'll have to spend about a week in sickbay." Glancing at Trip, he asked, "What happened to the other ship?"

Trip shrugged. "T'Pol said they took off like a scalded cat," he said. Seeing the surprised expressions on his companions' faces, he said with a grin, "Well, not in those exact words. It was something more like they 'abandoned their endeavor to take over Enterprise and left with all possible haste.'"

Hoshi laughed. "Thank goodness we have someone on board who can 'translate' T'Pol for us."

This time, it was a blush that spread over Trip's cheeks. Turning his gaze on Malcolm, he said, "I guess since you can see again, you won't have to be meditatin' with T'Pol any more."

The non-productive meditation sessions had been one of Malcolm's most frustrating experiences while blind. Remembering his futile attempts, but also unable to resist the urge to goad the engineer who had an off-and-on personal relationship with the first officer, Malcolm said with a straight face, ""It's not like we actually did any meditating."

Trip, in the act of swallowing some of his water, spluttered. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked suspiciously.

"Mr. Reed!"

The sound of the authoritative voice made all of them turn in the direction of the captain's private mess. Jon was coming out the doorway and headed in their direction. Malcolm hastily got to his feet as the captain came over to their table. "Sir?" he asked.

"I'd like to see you for a few minutes," Jon said. When Malcolm glanced down at his meal, he added, "Finish your dinner. I'll be in my dining room when you're done."

The captain walked away. As Malcolm sat back down, Hoshi said cheerfully, "He probably wants to tell you what a great job you did dealing with those intruders."

Malcolm looked at her and frowned. "Or what an arse I was to attempt taking on four hostile intruders when I couldn't see."

"Neither could the rest of us," Trip said. "You were the only one who was able to do anything. By the way, Travis told me it was your idea to have him fire the thrusters to make one of the intruders fall off the upper level walkway. How'd ya come up with that?"

Malcolm smiled smugly. "After the intruders disabled the engine, I remember thinking that at least we weren't being tossed around any more." He paused to give Hoshi a smile at the shared adventure. "And then I wondered -- if the warp engine was down, what was still working? I came up with the thrusters, which aren't tied into the main propulsion system, and which can do a little tossing of their own. After that, it just a matter of timing."

A short time later, Malcolm was finished with his dinner and went to the captain's private mess. He received permission to enter and walked in to find the captain seated at the head of the table.

"Please, sit down," Jon said him with a wave of his hand toward one of the other chairs.

Malcolm nodded brusquely and, still anticipating a dressing down for his perceived fool-hardiness in attempting to take on all the intruders by himself while blind, uneasily took a seat. He noticed that the captain's dinner plate had been cleared away and all that was left was a half-empty pitcher of iced tea and a glass.

"First," Jon said, "let me tell you how pleased I am that you've gotten your sight back. Although I'm probably not as happy about it as you are."

Malcolm, who had been keeping his eyes straight ahead, looked out the corner of his eye at the captain and saw him smile. One side of Malcolm's lips curved up in response.

"Phlox said your vision is back to what it was before the explosion with the phase cannon," Jon continued, "and there's no medical reason to keep you from getting back to work."

Malcolm sensed a "but" coming. There was a long pause, during which he fretted about what the captain would say next. He risked another sidelong glance at his superior and saw he was taking a sip from the glass of iced tea. The captain looked uncomfortable, which only increased Malcolm's apprehension.

Jon put down the glass and sighed. "I need to tell you something," he said, leaning back and clasping his hands on his lap. "It's only right to tell you."

Totally confused now, Malcolm asked, "What's that, sir?"

"When you first lost your sight, and Phlox told me that it was a psychological condition, and that you'd have to come to terms with whatever the underlying issues were before you could see again..."

"Sir?"

Jon picked up his glass but didn't take a drink. Instead, he turned it around in his hands, looking down at the tea as it swirled around the ice cubes. As he sat there waiting, Malcolm became aware that he was sweating.

"I'm afraid I made you the victim of an elaborate ruse," Jon said at last, looking up to meet Malcolm's questioning gaze. "It was my idea to tell you to deal with your blindness and that we wouldn't take you back to Earth right away. I was hoping to make you realize that you could see if you wanted to. I was trying to force you to deal with whatever it was that wouldn't let you see. At the worst, I thought maybe if you got so frustrated at not being able to do things for yourself, it would somehow make your sight come back." He laughed in self-derision. "Pretty lame idea, huh?"

"I wouldn't know, sir," Malcolm said stiffly, torn between irritation that the captain had such a role in determining what amounted to his psychological treatment, and surprise that the captain would do such a thing to help him.

"As the days went on," Jon said, "I was beginning to wonder if I'd done the right thing by ordering you to learn how to live with your blindness. You didn't seem fazed at all. You were able to overcome every challenge we threw at you."

"You mean all those things--" Malcolm said, beginning to realize how many people had been involved in trying to help him regain his sight. "Phlox kicking me out of sickbay, Trip and Hoshi making me go to the mess hall to eat, the audible basketball that Travis came up with...those were your ideas?"

"Actually, they came up with those ideas on their own," Jon said with a smile. "They were just as anxious for you to overcome your disability as I was." He laughed. "But you threw us for a loop. No matter what we came up with, you succeeded. You even started tackling projects on your own, like cleaning the phase pistols." At Malcolm's startled look, Jon laughed again. "Yes, I know about that. I was beginning to wonder if your blindness was such a handicap after all."

"But...but..." Malcolm knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't help it. He remembered his armory staff helping him learn how to shoot a phase pistol while blind, but he wasn't about to ask if they'd been in on his "therapy," too. It was bad enough that the senior staff -- including T'Pol with those meditation sessions -- had been trying to frustrate him into seeing again. "What did Doctor Phlox have to say about this unorthodox treatment?"

Jon shrugged. "He didn't have any other ideas, so he agreed it would be worth trying. Not that he expected it would succeed, but he said it would keep you busy and out of his sickbay."

"So the treatment didn't work as you'd hoped," Malcolm said, a sudden suspicion making him narrow his eyes. "Then we started running into subspace waves, and today we were boarded."

Jon's eyes opened wide at what Malcolm had left unsaid. "That was not part of the plan, Malcolm," he said. "If you're thinking we staged that for your benefit, you're wrong."

Malcolm nodded curtly, accepting the captain's word. It was somewhat farfetched to think they'd go to that amount of trouble. "So what was that all about?"

Jon shook his head. "We don't know, but we'll be better prepared if it happens again. We know what their objective was -- taking over Enterprise. But somehow, after the reception they got, I don't think they're going to mess with us again."

"Did we learn anything more about the subspace waves?"

"T'Pol's going over the data from the scans now," Jon answered.

"I'd like to take a look at that data," Malcolm said.

Jon smiled. "I expected you would. T'Pol's in the command center," he said.

"With your permission?" Malcolm asked, getting to his feet.

"Of course," Jon said.

Malcolm was at the door when the captain called out and stopped him. "I meant what I said in sickbay after you were injured in the explosion."

Malcolm turned back, a puzzled frown on his face. "Sir?"

"You're the best tactical officer in the fleet, even when you can't see," Jon said. "That's why I let you go into Engineering when we were under attack. If anyone could resolve that situation, I knew it would be you."

Malcolm ducked his head in embarrassment at the praise. "Thank you, sir. If that's all..."

Jon laughed. "Go on. I know you're itching to look at that data."

"Aye, sir," he said, and after another curt nod, left the captain's private mess.

Malcolm was half way to the bridge when he realized the captain hadn't said anything about his duty status. He'd thought that was the reason the captain had wanted to see him, but it hadn't come up.

If he wasn't on active duty, he had no right to be on the bridge or in the situation room. Then again, the captain had told him he could look at the subspace wave data. His presence, while not exactly conforming to regulations, was allowable with the captain's permission.

He stepped out of the turbolift onto the bridge and looked around. Nothing had changed since he had last seen it so many weeks ago. As he walked over to the door to the situation room, he mused that while things didn't look different, he was still experiencing a sensation that everything was brand new. He knew he'd never take his sight for granted again.

T'Pol was in front of the main screen when he entered the situation room. At her raised eyebrow at his entrance, he explained, "The captain said I could look at the data from the subspace wave."

She dipped her head in acknowledgement, moving aside to allow him to stand next to her at the main screen. "My felicitations on your recovery," she said.

"Um. Yes. Thank you," he said awkwardly.

"I was about to leave. I have found no new information in the data," T'Pol told him, calling up the first of the scans. "Feel free to peruse them. Perhaps you will see something I haven't."

Malcolm shot her a glance as she exited the room, wondering if she'd just made a joke. He shook his head and turned his attention to the screen.

He studied the information for several minutes, happy to be back doing something constructive. Before long, however, he realized he was having trouble concentrating. He gave in to what was nagging at him and, stepping over to another console, called up the duty roster.

With a sinking feeling, he saw there was no notation indicating he'd been returned to active duty. Scrolling back up through the entries, he was surprised to find that there was no notation indicating he'd been relieved from duty in the first place. Certain there was a mistake, he double checked the entries, but according to what he was reading, he'd never been relieved of duty.

He tried to recall those first few days after the bandages had come off and he hadn't been able to see. To the best of his recollection, no one had actually told him that he'd been relieved from duty. All along, he'd just assumed that was the case.

No wonder the captain hadn't appointed a replacement for him! The entire time he'd been blind, he had still been Enterprise's tactical officer and chief of security. It was both humbling and gratifying. Humbling, because the captain's belief in his abilities had remained steady when he himself had questioned them, and gratifying, because he'd always known he was a good officer. Buoyed by the captain's faith in him, he knew there was only one thing to do.

Moving back over to the main screen, he resumed looking at the data on the subspace wave with a renewed sense of purpose. T'Pol hadn't found anything, but that didn't mean there wasn't anything to be found. Maybe it just needed someone with a different perspective, someone with more of a tactical viewpoint than a purely scientific outlook.

He wasn't aware he was smirking as he gazed intently at the information before him.

(A/N: Thank all of you who have read through this whole story. If you enjoyed it, let me know! I've really loved all the comments you've left. It's much appreciated.)


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